


Everything I Can't Be Is Everything You Should Be

by Remy_Writes5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Crossdressing, Drug Addiction, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Smut, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Writes5/pseuds/Remy_Writes5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was obsessed. It wasn't how he liked to categorize himself but it was applicable. What had started out as a harmless crush had become a full-blown obsession. Although John was fairly certain he wasn't the first person to become enamored by Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Obsession

> Simply knowing you exist  
> Ain't good enough for me  
> But asking for your telephone number  
> Seems highly inappropriate
> 
> Seeing as I can't  
> Even say hi  
> When you walk by
> 
> And that time you shook my hand  
> It felt so nice  
> I swear I never felt  
> This way about any other guy  
> And I don't usually notice people's eyes
> 
> -We Got On, Kate Nash

 

John was obsessed. It wasn't how he liked to categorize himself but it was applicable. What had started out as a harmless crush had become a full-blown obsession. Although John was fairly certain he wasn't the first person to become enamored by Sherlock Holmes.

It honestly wasn't something he could help anymore. Sally kept telling him he should move on, find someone he could actually talk to, but it was impossible. And even when he did actually try to, Sherlock would walk into the coffee shop and all the progress he'd made would be lost. Sally thought Sherlock was weird and had on more than one occasion called him a freak. She had friends who were at Uni with him and she'd heard stories. John tried to listen, to heed her warning but he was already too far gone. He'd even memorized Sherlock's drink order, which changed depending on the weather and didn't it just bugger all that John knew that.

Seeing Sherlock was the best thing about working at The Espresso Room. In fact his crush had gotten so bad that any time Sherlock didn't come in, it ruined the rest of John's day. He knew this was getting unhealthy and every day he chastised himself for not making a move. But the moment Sherlock walked in, John was reduced to a stammering git. It was his eyes, those piercing gray eyes. They were hypnotic and every time John looked at them he forgot how to put sentences together. He never could make himself say more than "here you go" and "have a good day!" The most he could do was give Sherlock a genuine smile rather than the polite and insincere smile he reserved for most of the other customers. Every time Sherlock walked out of the coffee shop, John began hating himself a little bit more.

Sherlock often just came in, got his usual order and left. That day was different though. He'd actually sat down on one of the benches and was drinking in the shop. John was doing his best not to stare but there were no other costumers to occupy his time. The best he could do was stock up the brownie plate and try to be subtle.

"God, you're almost drooling." Sally said shaking her head. She chuckled as John's cheeks flushed a bright red.

"Shut up." John said pointedly turning his back to Sherlock and leaning against the counter.

"You are so pathetic. Just go and talk to him already."

"I can't." 

Sally rolled her eyes. "He's not a god John, he's a regular bloke. Well, you know, not regular because he's a freak. But he is a bloke."

"I know." John groaned, covering his face with his hands. Sally took his hands and pulled them away.

"Nothing is going to happen if you don't do something. Enough of this worshiping from afar."

"What would I say to him?" John asked her, feeling lost and desperate. As long as he didn't say anything, he couldn't be rejected. The thought of Sherlock turning him down was worse than the idea of never speaking to him at all. He knew most people said it was better to know and not live in regret. But John knew there was no way in hell he could ever turn the head of someone like Sherlock and thought it was better to not live in devastation.

"Say Anything." Sally offered up unhelpfully.

"I don't even know if he's…you know…"

"He is." She assured him. "He dated Sebastian last year, remember?"

"Right." John nodded. He had always hated Sebastian. Not just because he was slimy and a complete tosser but also because he had had the privilege of calling Sherlock Holmes his boyfriend and had spent every moment since their break up bad-mouthing Sherlock. Still the few times John had interacted with Sebastian, the man had been unpleasant to say the least. He was smug and arrogant even though he had no reason to be. What Sherlock saw in him was beyond John.

John vaguely knew the story of what had happened between Sherlock and Sebastian. They'd dated for a few months until Sebastian ended things because he "couldn't take it anymore." Apparently Sherlock was overtly suspicious and once secretly followed Sebastian for an entire day just to make sure he was faithful. Sebastian had once told the story at a party while everyone laughed and sympathized with poor Sebastian. It had taken all of John's self-control to not crush his beer can and chuck it at Sebastian's stupid head. Sally had agreed with Sebastian's sentiment that Sherlock was a freak. John didn't.

John despaired because if Sebastian were the type of bloke Sherlock went for, he would never want John. Sebastian and John were about as different as you could get in looks and personality. Sebastian was medium height, dark hair and John personally didn't find him very attractive. Although, that could have been his jealousy talking or the fact that Sebastian was the worst kind of wanker John had encountered.

"He's not unattainable." Sally reminded him softly when John made no move to go talk to Sherlock.

"Yeah, maybe not if you've got rich parents and a public school education and the right designer clothes." John snapped, huffing out a breath when he was done.

"John, saving up to go to medical school is nothing to scoff at. You're bloody brilliant. Don't make yourself out to be less just because you're too much of a pussy to go over there and talk to him."

"I am not." John whispered harshly, not wanting Sherlock to overhear them.

"Prove it." Sally challenged, her lips curling into a smug grin.

"I can't now, I'm working." John had lost count of the number of times he'd used that excuse. He couldn't just stop doing his job and try to get off with Sherlock. He'd get sacked or yelled at and neither seemed pleasant.

"Fine, what if I told you that I know for certain that he'll be at this club tonight?"

"How do you know?" John eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she was having him on.

"Long story." She waved it off. "But he'll be there tonight. Soon as we get off work, we'll find you something decent to wear and we'll go."

Sherlock had finished his coffee and threw the cup effortlessly into the bin before leaving. John watched him, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as he did so. "You're certain he'll be there?"

"Absolutely."

XXXX

John and Sally stood in the queue, waiting to get into the club. They'd closed up the shop pretty quickly and had the money counted in half an hour. After they went to John's flat so he could change. They'd decided, or rather Sally decided since John got very little input, on a button down shirt and jeans. The button down shirt was a dark blue that Sally said brought out John's eyes and the jeans in her words made John's arse look fantastic. They were tighter than John was comfortable with. He wasn't even sure why he'd bought them. He couldn't recall but they were probably Sally's doing. She enjoyed being his personal shopper.

John's style had been much more muted before he started working at The Espresso Room and subsequently met Sally. He had favored jumpers and baggier jeans. He didn't own anything with a recognizable label and got most of his clothes at secondhand stores. Sally had taken pity on him and made it her personal mission to give John what she called a makeover. She claimed his wardrobe was unacceptable. John hadn't thought it was quite as bad as all that.

She'd taken the liberty of throwing out most of his old clothes and replaced them with tightly fitted t-shirts, button down shirts and trendy sport coats. He was now wearing two sizes smaller jeans that barely fit and crushed his bullocks. He also owned two new suits even though he had no idea where he would wear them. Sally seemed to think they were a necessity.

John never would have been able to afford all that stuff. However Sally was such a frequent shopper that most of the places they went, she had earned credit. She was also some sort of wizard when it came to finding deals. Most of the stuff he'd bought turned out to be ridiculously cheap. They had picked through all the clearance racks, finding things Sally deemed acceptable. She said that men's clothes barely changed while getting women's clothes off the clearance rack was social suicide. John tried to care but in his mind it was just clothes. But Sally was his friend and it was important to her so he tried to make it seem like it was important to him too.

In fact he'd go as far as to say Sally was his closest friend. He had a few mates from when he was on the school football team but he'd more or less lost touch with most of them. He didn't want to believe it was because he had come out as being bi-sexual but he knew that probably the reason for their lack of contact over the past year. The only one who still called him was Mike Stamford and they'd meet up for lunch. Mike was the good sort and John was always glad to see him.

And then there was Sarah, John's old girlfriend. They'd dated for almost a year during school but when she went off the Cambridge, she made it clear she didn't want to take any excess baggage with her. They'd ended things more or less amicably and still talked and emailed. She'd been very supportive when John had decided to come out.

But no one could hold a candle to Sally. He'd only known Sally a month when she had come with him to tell his parents he was bi-sexual. She held his hand and when his parents kicked him out, she let John stay at her flat. He'd finally moved into his own flat but Sally had let him stay for as long as he wanted. Had they been normal people, this would have been the point where they fell madly in love with each other. Somehow they surpassed the awkwardness and it was never even an issue. They'd once drunkenly kissed but they both agreed they weren't into it.

John hadn't spoken to his parents in over a year. His mother tried to contact him once, called him on his mobile. He ignored that call. He was too angry at her and the way she'd sat idly by while his father not only kicked him out of the house but refused to continue paying for medical school. She'd never tried again after that first brush off. He knew his parents weren't going to be thrilled that he also fancied blokes but he hadn't expected them to act in that way. It was sort of cliché and very, very disappointing.

That was why John was forced to pay for his own schooling. He'd gotten the coffee shop job just to have some extra cash but now he was working there full time. He'd been forced to withdraw from school until he could afford it on his own. Whatever money didn't go to bills was put away for school. Nights like this, where he actually went out and spent his money were rare. If it hadn't been for the promise of seeing Sherlock, John definitely wouldn't have come.

"Will you knock it off?" Sally hissed in exasperation. John had been searching the crowd for any sign of Sherlock and was put out when there wasn't so much as a glimpse of him.

"You're sure he's going to be here?" John asked, craning his neck trying to see over the heads of people. Sometimes he really hated being so short.

"What does it matter? You're not going to talk to him." Sally said rolling her eyes. John had been asking her that every five minutes and he knew he was being annoying but was unable to stop.

"Yes I will. What makes you think I won't? It's the whole reason I'm here." John replied indignantly.

"Precedent. You've had plenty of chances to talk to him and you still haven't. I don't see why tonight should be any different." Sally shrugged.

"I've just been waiting for the right moment."

"And you think the right moment is in a crowded club, with loud music, where you'll have to fight off a bunch of other guys and girls, just to get near him?" Sally raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical.

John hadn't really thought about it like that. He'd figured the club was a better place to make his move because it was a more socially acceptable place to ask someone out. But Sally was right, there would be so many people going up to Sherlock, asking for his number. They'd get one look at him and be unable to help themselves. Why would Sherlock choose John over everyone else?

The moment Sherlock turned the corner and came into view, John's heart relocated to his throat, his stomach bottomed out and his breath caught. He watched as Sherlock skipped the line and was ushered in right away. Some people in the line grumbled that he was allowed to get in before them. John instantly started to panic. If Sherlock was in there for awhile, he might get off with someone else and John would lose his shot.

"Sally, can you flash your tits at the bouncer and get us in?" John asked desperately.

"Yeah, let me think about that for a minute. No. God John. Why don't you pull out your cock and slap him in the face with it. Maybe that will get us in." She snapped, looking at him like he had gone mad and he couldn't really blame her.

"Sorry." He muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"You've got to calm down." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She shook one out, slipped it between her lips and lit it. She knew better than to offer John one. He wasn't dead set against smoking but only did so on very rare occasions. "Five minutes tops and we'll be in."

"Ok." John grumbled unhappily. He hunched his shoulders and leaned against the building, sliding across it as the line moved slowly.

The moment they were inside, John instinctively looked for Sherlock's dark, curly head of hair. Unfortunately there were so many people and the lighting so dim, it was practically impossible. Sally tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the couches in the corner. Sherlock was sitting there looking bored, nursing his vodka and tonic.

"Here." Sally said holding out a tiny bag with two round blue pills in it. John quickly slipped it into his pocket before anyone could see.

"Sally." He scolded. "What are you doing with those?"

"Settle down  _dad_. It's really not a big deal. Besides, it's your in. Offer him some."

"I think I can manage without, thanks." He tried to discreetly give the pills back to her but she wouldn't take them.

"Will you just go already?" she shouted over the music, giving him a violent shove in Sherlock's direction.

"Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

"I'll manage." She gave him a wink and set off to go dance. John watched as she disappeared into the crowd and then turned his attention back to Sherlock. There was a guy sitting beside him now, trying to chat him up. John quickly tried to make his way through the sea of bodies. He was jostled about and more than once a stray limb came out and hit him. The music pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. He really wanted a drink but he had to get to Sherlock first. That way when he struck out he could drink away his sorrows.

When he finally broke free of the crowd, he walked up the steps to the sitting area. There were several large, black semi-circle couches with tables for people to sit and get away from the crowded dance floor. Most of them were piled with people laughing and drinking. Sherlock's was the only somewhat empty one. Sherlock was sitting with one arm over the back of the sofa, the other holding his drink. His legs were crossed and he looked rather gorgeous in his black suit. The way he was sitting pulled at his shirt, stretching it across his chest. No wonder he had barely sat down before someone tried to get off with him. It made John's chances feel even smaller. He stood close to where Sherlock was but didn't go over right away. He could barely make out what the guy trying to chat Sherlock up was saying but it was obvious from Sherlock's vacant and disinterested expression that the guy wasn't getting very far. Sherlock sipped his drink and John saw his eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at the man.

Sherlock's eyes settled on John and he instantly froze, unsure what to do. The side of Sherlock's lip twitched up into something resembling a smile. He took that as a good sign and decided to go over. He tapped the guy on the shoulder and the guy turned around.

"I don't think he's interested." John said over the music.

"How the hell would you know?" The guys spat back.

"No, he's quite right." Sherlock interjected. The random guy's face fell and he skulked off to parts unknown. John hesitated for a moment and then sat down. It felt like one of those speed dating things where someone sits across a table with someone for two minutes and if they like them they can give them their number. The other guy had struck out and now it was John's turn to try. His throat had gone dry and he tried to think of the best way to begin.

Sherlock was sipping his drink and looking expectantly at John, his eyebrow raised amusedly. He was waiting for John to say something and yet his mind seemed to have gone blank. This was the closest he'd been to Sherlock without a counter between them. John licked his lips and tried to think of anything. He knew talking with Sherlock wasn't going to be easy but he never thought it would be quite this embarrassing.

_Bloody hell,_ he cursed himself and reached into his pocket. "Do you want one?" he asked holding the pills out as subtly as possible.

"No thank you." Sherlock replied, eyeing him. His stare was like fire burning against John's skin and he knew he was blushing a deep red. He tugged at his collar, suddenly unbearably hot.

"I'm John, by the way." He said lamely, unable to think of anything else.

"I'm aware."

"Oh?" John looked down at his hands, trying not to get too excited that Sherlock Holmes knew his name. He'd never introduced himself at the coffee shop. "You do?"

"I thought your name tag made it perfectly obvious." Sherlock smiled wryly and stirred his drink.

"Right." John felt stupid, although that wasn't anything new. He wished he could think of something clever or funny or unique to say but nothing came. If the floor wanted to open up and swallow him whole, he would be absolutely fine with that. "Do you want to dance?" It was a last ditch attempt.

"Not really my area."

"Me neither." John lied.

John tapped his fingers against his leg in time to the music until he couldn't stand it anymore. If there was one thing he was absolutely certain of, it was that he needed a very large drink. He was also fairly sure nothing was going to happen with Sherlock, not tonight or ever. He'd been foolish to think he could just sit down and immediately hit it off with him. He'd never been able to get out more than a few words before tonight. What made him think this would be any different?

He was about to stand up when Sherlock moved a bit closer. His breath was on John's ear and he was reveling in the sensation. So much so that he almost missed what Sherlock said.

"I could use another drink." Sherlock's voice was low and sensual and the sound made John feel like he would melt. He swallowed and tried to keep his breathing regular.

"Black coffee, two sugars, tiny bit of milk?" John joked and instantly regretted it. "Sorry. I'll be right back."

He got up off the couch and headed for the bar. He knew it was going to be a long wait as girls flicked their hair trying to get noticed by the bartenders and guys yelled and waved their money. John snaked through until he was up against the bar and tried to flag someone down. He kept glancing back at Sherlock to make sure he hadn't left or was being chatted up by someone else.

When he finally procured the two drinks, he went around the crowd, doing his best not to spill. Arriving back at the sofa, he wasn't entirely surprised to find someone else talking with Sherlock. Honestly he couldn't take his eyes off him for a second. It was a girl this time, pretty but kind of mousy looking. She'd obviously taken a lot of time to work on her appearance for the evening. Her small lips were smeared with a red lipstick that didn't really suit her and her hair was pulled to the side in a low ponytail.

"Ah, John, thank you." Sherlock said as John set his drink in front of him. Sherlock moved over on the couch to allow some room for John to sit. "This is… Molly, was it?"

"Yes, Molly." The girl nodded, giving a shy smile.

"This is John." Sherlock slipped his arm around John's waist and tugged him in closer. John tried not to beam too widely. 

"Oh." Molly's eyes got wide as she seemed to grasp the situation. John put his hand on Sherlock's thigh, just to sell it a bit more but also because he really wanted to.

"Molly here is an Aquarius, she's studying mortuary science and forensic pathology at university. She enjoys drinking Vodka Cranberries and has two cats."

"I never told you I had two cats." Molly said, puzzled.

"Didn't you?" Sherlock wrinkled his brow and John noticed a slight grin before Sherlock took a sip of his drink.

"Well, I should be getting back to my friends."

Molly stood quickly and rushed off. John actually felt kind of bad for her. The moment she was gone Sherlock removed his hand from John's waist. It took John a minute and a meaningful glance from Sherlock to realize he still had his hand on Sherlock's thigh. He removed it and grimaced, wondering just how awkward that was going to make things. Sherlock slid over on the couch, putting a bit of distance between them.

"Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot when you go out?" John asked trying to strike up an actual conversation, taking a large gulp of his pint to help calm his nerves.

"Does what happen?" Sherlock asked pulling his phone from his pocket and texting someone.

"People hitting on you?"

"I never really noticed." Sherlock shrugged, still typing away.

"Really?" John found that hard to believe. John took another sip and wiped his mouth to make sure he didn't have a foam mustache.

"I suppose it does happen on occasion. Most people give up fairly easily since I'm not the most friendly of sorts. Others seem unable to take a hint." Sherlock's eyes flickered to John over his phone.

"Right. Sorry. Did you want me to go?"

"John, that comment was not directed at you. If I didn't want you around, you'd know it."

"Yes, of course."

"I wonder if you might do me a favor." Sherlock inquired, putting his phone away and turning to face John.

"Um, sure." John nodded.

"Pull him off me after one punch." Sherlock told John enigmatically as he stood.

"What?" John rose and followed him.

"Just go to the bar and get yourself a shot or something John." Sherlock yelled into his ear. "Remember, one punch."

John nodded although he had no idea what the hell that meant. He went to the bar and stood amongst the crowd, doing his best to keep his eye on Sherlock. He watched as Sherlock went up to some girl and got a bit flirty. Sherlock seemed…different. Usually when he talked to people he was somewhat silent and reserved. With this girl he was actively flirting, keeping his eyes on her and talking animatedly. John felt his stomach twist into knots as Sherlock trailed a finger down the girl's bare arm. She leaned in closer with her whole body and whispered something into Sherlock's ears. He laughed in response and moved his hand to the small of her back.

John was somewhat horrified but kept still, even though every bit of him was screaming to go and get between them. Fortunately, a rather large, thuggish looking guy seemed to be reading John's mind and did it for him. The gorilla shoved Sherlock away and grabbed the girl roughly be the arm. She yelled something that John couldn't hear over the music. Sherlock said something, smiling smugly and John could tell he was goading the other guy.

John noticed the guy's hand curl into a fist and he instantly set off, heading in their direction. A big, meaty fist cracked against Sherlock's jaw and he fell to the ground. John thought about going to see if he was all right but the thickheaded guy looked ready to strike again. John put his body between them and shoved the guy away.

"Hey, this doesn't concern you midget." The guy spat viciously.

"Actually, it does." John replied, swinging his fist back and slamming it into the guy's nose. A string of blood shot out of his nose, painting the dance floor.

"Fucking hell. You fucking cunt!" The guy shouted, clutching his nose. The girl hurried to his side to see if he was ok. John turned his back and hurried over to Sherlock, kneeling beside him.

"Marvelously done." Sherlock told him, struggling to get to his feet.

"Jesus, are you all right? He didn't break your jaw, did he?" John asked putting his arm around Sherlock to steady him. He took Sherlock's arm and put it around his neck to help him walk. He looked at their attacker, making sure he wasn't going to strike again. The guy was too busy yelling and whining about his nose to the girl.

"I don't believe so." Sherlock put his hand on his jaw and moved it a bit. "Still in working condition."

"Come on, let's get you to the bathroom." John said over the music, guiding a somewhat punch-drunk Sherlock to the toilets. They clamored in together, the door banging shut behind him. There was only one other person using the urinal and when he left they were alone. It was somewhat quieter in the loo, the noise muted through the door and John was thankful he wouldn't have to shout anymore.

Sherlock stood in front of the sink and looked over his jaw in the mirror. John leaned against the wall next to him, his arms crossed. "So what was all that about then?"

"It's perfect." Sherlock said to no one in particular, his fingers going over a mark on his jaw. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.

"What is that?" John asked, cupping his hand unver Sherlock's chin and inspecting his jaw. There was a deep indentation just above his jawline that looked like a Celtic knot. Sherlock held up his phone and showed John the picture and then scrolled his finger across the screen to show him a different picture of a similar mark on a dead woman, except it was on her neck. John leaned in closer and looked carefully.

"It's the same mark." He said looking from the photo to Sherlock in front of him. "Who is that?'

"Jennifer Tinsdale. She was found dead in her flat last night, strangled to death." Sherlock flipped his phone sideways and texted someone.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you know her?"

"Not at all." Sherlock answered, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Then what are you doing?"

"Investigating her death." Sherlock said as if this was completely normal. John stared at him for a moment and tried to figure out what to think of that. He blinked a few times but couldn't come to any sort of conclusion of how he felt. Was this what people meant when they called Sherlock a freak? Did he have some sort of morbid fascination?

"Have I frightened you off?"

"No." John said quickly.

"Really?" Sherlock's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Most people disapprove of my little hobby."

"Why? If you're solving murders, isn't that a good thing?"

"My motives are not strictly pure. I do it because I find it interesting not because I feel an overwhelming sense of justice." Sherlock confessed and John realized this was the most he had ever talked to Sherlock. It had been a while since he'd said something stupid or embarrassing. Sherlock hadn't run away screaming yet although he seemed to be concerned about causing John to do the same.

"I don't see why the reasoning behind your actions should matter as long as you're doing something good."

"I don't care about being good. Results are what matter to me."

Sherlock eyed John, waiting to see if he had scared him away yet. John thought he must have been used to that kind of reaction. John stepped closer, his tongue trailed across his lips and his hand reached up and curled around the nape of Sherlock's neck. He wanted him to know he wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to be pushed away by that. Maybe he should have run screaming but he wouldn't. This was who Sherlock was and John accepted that. He thought about all the other fools that had probably let this come between them and he was thankful because that meant Sherlock was able to be there, with him.

Their faces were so close they were sharing breath. John didn't move any closer. He couldn't. He had to know there was want from both sides. He had to know that Sherlock wanted him in the same way. It might not have been at the same level, not yet, but John would take even a glimmer of hope. Sherlock's eyes were searching his, as if he was unsure what to do next. They hovered there for what could have been a second or an hour, John wasn't sure. They were standing on a precipice, John was ready to jump, he was just waiting for Sherlock to pull him off the cliff.

Their eyes were locked on each other, the waiting was agony and yet it wasn't. It was strange and intense as John stood looking up at everything he wanted in the entire world, waiting to see if his everything wanted him back. He could have stood there forever, he was prepared to, until finally Sherlock broke their standstill and their lips came together.

It was overwhelming, so overwhelming. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, like a crescendo of music. Sherlock's lips were soft and full and he tasted like alcohol and menthol cigarettes and a million other things John couldn't quite place. John's fingers twisted into Sherlock's curls, running them through his thick dark hair. Sherlock had John pressed up against the sink, their hips grinding against each other.

Sherlock broke the kiss, his lips trailing down John's jaw to his neck, sucking lightly. John tilted his head back, still clutching Sherlock's hair tightly, panting into his ear. Simultaneously they began pushing and pulling each other until they were in the large handicapped stall with the door shut tight behind them. John felt urgent and frantic, his lips begging and insistent against Sherlock's. He was realizing that all his fantasies and imaginings about Sherlock had been nothing compared to the real thing.

Sherlock's nimble fingers undid John's button and zip on his much too tight jeans. His pale, thin fingers wrapped themselves around John's already hard prick. "Oh God." John breathed, tilting his head back against the wall. He shut his eyes and pressed his skull into the cold bathroom wall, afraid he might come undone at the mere touch of Sherlock grasping him tightly. He did a few quick strokes, making John gasp.

"Tell me." Sherlock leaned in and whispered in John's ear. He was barely audible over John's heavy breathing. "Tell me what you want John."

"An-anything." He replied shakily. "Anything." He repeated more steadily after a deep breath. And knew he meant literally anything.

"You shouldn't give me such free range, I might take advantage." Sherlock replied, his free hand tracing John's lips and then across his jaw line.

"Maybe I want to be to be taken advantage of." John answered with no idea where the surge of confidence had come from.

Sherlock grinned, apparently pleased with John's response. He slipped his hand under John's shirt, thumb circling his nipple until it was a hard nub. His other thumb was circling the tip of John's cock, moving the opposite direction of his other thumb, eliciting a loud moan.

"Careful John." Sherlock's eyes were blazing, his grin turning somewhat devious looking. "I haven't even begun yet."

"Oh fuck." John cried out, his knees turning to water and threatening to give out. And yet it was Sherlock who gracefully got to his knees, his hand grazing down John's chest and he lowered himself down. He tugged down John's jeans and underwear, letting them pool at his ankles.

John stared as Sherlock's tongue darted out and licked the tip of his cock slowly. John shuddered in response. Sherlock did it again, this time moving in a slow circle around the crown. Precome was streaming out the slit as Sherlock took the head into his mouth and sucked hard. John could see stars and he bit his lip, feeling close to losing control. His hips bucked just a bit, forcing himself just a bit deeper into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock took John's hand and placed it on the back of his head, signaling that John could take over if he wanted. John grasped the hair and held Sherlock steady as he thrust into Sherlock's mouth. He could feel every bit of Sherlock's mouth around him, allowing him in. His lips were pulled tight around John's prick, just a hint of teeth against his length.

John loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair but didn't drop his hand entirely. He relinquished control back to Sherlock. He took it, bobbing his head as he worked the shaft. John could hear the bathroom door opening and closing as people came in and left again. Sometimes he could hear voices and every time the door opened, music spilled in. The outside world was threatening to break in but John couldn't be buggered. All his concentration was focused on that gorgeous mouth working his cock and the man attached to it.

"Sh-Sherlock. Oh God. Oh shit." John grabbed the top of the stall and held on tightly. His other hand gripped Sherlock's hair. He was so close. This was a rollercoaster and he at the top of the incline, just waiting to tip over. And he would any second now.

Sherlock's hand had undone his own trousers and he was furiously wanking himself off. The movements on his own cock were much less deliberate than his mouth on John's. John's eyes fluttered half shut as Sherlock glanced up at him from under his long eyelashes. He watched as Sherlock came into his own hand, the come coating his fingers.

"Oh God. Sherlock. I'm—" He didn't finish before he climax, coming hard, so hard, into Sherlock's beautifully obscene mouth. He held onto the top of the stall door so tightly he thought he might rip it off its hinges. His vision blurred and he blinked until it returned.

Sherlock rose, ever the picture of gracefulness even after what they'd just done. Without thinking, John grabbed Sherlock's wrists and sucked greedily on his ejaculate covered fingers. Sherlock watched, looking somewhat fascinated by John's actions. John was just glad he didn't object although he didn't really know why he would. This was all still very surreal. He was waiting to be wrenched from a dream, feeling the wetness of his sheets, soiled with his own come. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened, John thought embarrassingly.

When they were licked clean, Sherlock dropped his hand from John's mouth and replaced it with his own. They kissed, tasting of each other and yet still themselves. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close. His tongue explored the inside of Sherlock's mouth, everywhere his cock had just been. He never wanted to stop exploring.

As if the universe was playing a cruel joke, Sherlock's phone went off. It dinged once. A text message. Sherlock pulled away and grabbed his phone from his pocket, reading it. John wanted to pull him back, to be the center of his universe again but he didn't. He'd come off as needy. As desperate.

"Sorry, gotta dash." Sherlock replaced the phone and did up his fly. He opened the door a crack and slipped through, leaving John alone and deflated in the dirty bathroom stall. He quickly pulled up his jeans, feeling uncomfortable in them as he always did. He rushed out of the stall after Sherlock but he'd already left the bathroom. A few of the guys at the urinals looked at him funny since he had just left the stall seconds after Sherlock. He couldn't help wondering how much they heard but didn't have time to dwell on it.

John reentered the noisy atmosphere of the club, glancing around for where Sherlock could have disappeared to. He caught a glimpse of his dark hair, messier than usually thanks to John's handiwork, and John instantly set off to find him before he left.

"Hey!" John yelled, his voice being drowned out by the music. The beat was loud and heavy, pounding in his ears. "Wait!"

He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's arm. Sherlock turned, looking somewhat surprised and more than a little annoyed. "What now?"

"Can I get your number?" John asked, moving closer to be heard.

"Why?" Sherlock eyed him suspiciously.

"I'd like to call you sometime."

"I prefer to text." Sherlock informed him. It might be a brush off but John wasn't going to be deterred that easily.

"Then I'll text you sometime." He amended.

"Do you make it a habit of following people around like a dog? Do people usually find that an attractive quality?" Sherlock snapped.

John dropped Sherlock's arm, feeling like he'd been slapped. He was certain his cheeks and ears had gone bright red: a mixture of embarrassment and anger. What the hell had happened? How had they gone from a hot and heavy tryst in the bathroom to Sherlock acting like John was some annoying stalker who wouldn't leave him alone? John thought he must be missing something. He couldn't figure out what though.

"Fine." John replied, stepping away. He turned and started through the crowd. He could see the exit sign and started heading towards it. He would text Sally from outside and inform her that he'd left. She'd probably go home with some random guy anyway and wouldn't notice his absence. There would be their usual morning meet up to get breakfast and nurse their hangovers. Sally would relay the events of her evening to him and John often did the same. He wasn't sure if he was up to sharing what had occurred that night though. Even if things had gone horribly wrong, and John was almost entirely sure it wasn't his doing, this was something he wanted to keep to himself. A private moment of living out his fantasy.

He was almost to the exit when a body pressed against his, crushing him against the wall. Lips pressed against his and John recognized the taste but opened his eyes to check anyway. He was equally relieved and baffled that it was Sherlock. He slipped something into John's hand and curled his fingers around it. Then Sherlock broke away and as quickly as he had come, he disappeared, folding in with the rest of the crowd.

John looked down at his hand and unfolded the slip of paper. A telephone number had been quickly jotted down. Underneath Sherlock had written something else in his messy writing. The dim lights and almost unintelligible writing made it hard to read. He walked outside into the cold night air and stood under a street post, trying to decipher it.

_44 7544680989_

_You can call if you want to_

_SH_

_  
_


	2. Surprises

> Lately with this state I'm in  
>  I can't help myself but spin.  
>  I wish you'd come over,  
>  Send me spinning closer to you.
> 
> My oh my, how my blood boils,  
>  It's sweet taste for you,  
>  Strips me down bare  
>  And gets me into my favourite mood.
> 
> I keep on trying, fighting these feelings away,  
>  But the more I do,  
>  The crazier I turn into.
> 
> Pacing floors and opening doors,  
>  Hoping you'll walk through  
>  And save me boy,  
>  Because I'm too crazy for you.
> 
> -Crazy For You, Adele

 

 _Why did I do that?_ Sherlock asked himself as he sat in the back of the taxi. He had just finished taking the evidence to Lestrade and had been assured the culprit would be arrested. He knew Lestrade didn't take him seriously because he was so young but he also knew better than to ignore what Sherlock said. Now that the case was solved, his thoughts had turned back to John and what had transpired earlier that evening.  _Why, why, why, why, why?_

It wasn't like him. He never gave his number out unless the person who would use it could point him in the direction of a dead body. He never gave out his number for social reasons. In fact the amount of people who had Sherlock's number was a small group indeed: Lestrade, of course, Mrs. Hudson in case of emergencies, Mycroft, even though Sherlock had never given it to him, it didn't stop him from having it, Sebastian, although Sherlock assumed it had been deleted by now, and now John. Why had he made an exception? He had successfully pushed John away, maybe not forever but had hurt his feelings enough that he wouldn't try again any time soon.

So why had he changed his mind? He still wasn't entirely sure of the reason. He'd often wondered about John Watson, part time barista and current medical school drop out. The main thing that drew Sherlock in was John's infatuation but also the fact that John had failed to act on it. Sherlock had seen the attraction almost immediately and watched it grow. And yet John never said anything more than "here you go" and "have a nice day" always with the smile he never gave anyone else. It was maddening.

He had been waiting for the inevitable, and yet it seemed like it would never come. He knew John would eventually make his feelings known and Sherlock was prepared to turn him down. He usually never tried to be gentle with these kinds of things but he was prepared to be, with John. Again, John was the exception. 

It could have been because he had seen John's obsession grow, seen him lusting after Sherlock for what seemed like an unbelievable amount of time. Sherlock couldn't help but feel incredibly flattered. He'd never received such adoration from anyone before. He'd sat in the coffee shop that morning, assuming that if he were there long enough, John would finally chat him up. Yet he hadn't and Sherlock had finally given up, assuming John would simply pine in silence forever. 

He was well aware it was the reason he didn't send John away the moment he sat down next to him on that couch. Everyone else that came up to him in the club was so tiresome. Sherlock didn't want the continuingly endless parade of people coming up to him for superficial reasons. If he chose someone, everyone else would have no choice but to back off. He'd chosen John. His exception.

John. Such an ordinary name. Common. Dull. His boy next door looks should have been ordinary and uninteresting and yet they weren't. John Watson was extraordinary in any and every sense of the word. The way he did as Sherlock asked without question. The way he positioned himself between Sherlock and his assailant. So protective. So strong. So everything.

Sherlock shouldn't have been to intrigued by John. Normally, he did not stop to notice people who were not dead and lifeless. He rarely saw people as a whole. Usually they were just separate parts that told facts. And yet… and yet he saw all of John Watson. He couldn't help it.

Sherlock abhorred emotions. They confounded him. They couldn't be predicted or quantified. Most he found useless and bothersome. Caring was a waste of time. Happiness irrelevant. Pain unnecessary. They would gum up the works. Cloud the brain. Made it hard to get at the stuff that mattered.

Sherlock stopped to take stock of his feelings for John, organize them so maybe they would make sense. Arousal: obvious. Joy: definitely. Friendship: possibly. Love: too soon to tell. It was no good. John Watson didn't fit into a neat little box. He should but he didn't. Sherlock pounded his fist just once against his thigh in irritation.  _John Watson, why don't you make sense?_

It wasn't the first time he had given in to more animalistic urges. He usually abstained from such things and he certainly wasn't the type to go at it in a public bathroom. Even with Sebastian sex had never been a priority. In fact Sebastian himself hadn't been a priority. He was mainly just convenient.

Sherlock knew the kinds of things Sebastian said about him, practically to anyone who would listen. Sherlock had followed Seb all day but it was to have tangible proof of his infidelity so Sherlock would have a reason to break things off. As he understood it, you needed a reason; you couldn't just end things because the person turned out to be incredibly dull.

Sebastian had saved him the trouble and ended things first. Sherlock didn't mind. He was never sure how he felt about Seb. It was unclear whether he cared for him or had just gotten very good at faking it. Sometimes he thought he faked all human interactions he was forced to endure. Sherlock had long ago learned that most people did not like him for who he was and so he learned to adapt, to blend in, to hide in plain sight. He hadn't been faking with John, well at least not in the bathroom. He had been raw and honest. He had been himself and John hadn't left, didn't run away. He didn't think Sherlock was a freak. Instead he had pulled him closer. John Watson, such a delightful exception.

There was a three day hold before John could call. Sherlock had picked up at least a few social conventions. This one he found particularly juvenile and unnecessary Why did ordinary people insist on playing games? Sherlock could only hope John felt similarly and would call.

XXXXXX

Sherlock had just entered his flat, after saying a quick hello to Mrs. Hudson, when his phone vibrated. He smiled and looked down. No caller I.D. Not a blocked number, just a number that wasn't programmed into the directory…yet.

_How is your jaw feeling? John_

_Perfectly fine. I think you did more damage to his face than he did to mine. SH_

_Just a lucky shot. John_

Was John always this modest? It was something he would have to test in the future.

_Hardly. You texted instead of calling SH_

_You said you prefer it. John_

_I do. SH_

_Well then. John_

Sherlock could almost see John smiling when he typed his last response. John. How many times was Sherlock going to be surprised by him? Would it ever stop? Would John's shocking behavior become such an ordinary occurrence that what was surprising stopped being so? He didn't want it to. As long as John stayed unpredictable, Sherlock would stay interested.

Sherlock smiled to himself and made a decision.

_I have something I have to do tomorrow. Feel like joining me? SH_

_Yes. What time? John_

Someone else would have asked what they were doing or where they were going. Surprising.

_7:00 PM. Dress nice. SH_

_Black tie? John_

_Not Quite. SH_

_Where should I meet you? John_

_221B Baker St. 6:00ish. We'll take a cab together. SH_

_Can't wait. John_

XXXXXX

Sherlock felt something akin to nervousness as he paced his living room, waiting for John to arrive. He probably shouldn't have been anxious but it wasn't something he could help no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to pretend it was just worry produced from what he had to do that night but he knew that wasn't it. He was forced to endure this torture every year. No the anxiety was caused by John.

The thought of seeing him again made Sherlock's pulse quicken. It had only been a day since they'd seen each other and yet Sherlock couldn't help feeling he must have built up John in his mind. Was he really so lonely? Impossible. Sherlock didn't get lonely. He preferred to be on his own. Loneliness was idiotic. What if John wasn't as Sherlock remembered him? What if he had changed over night? Unlikely. People never changed. What if John was no longer surprising?

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, tugging at his curls and flopped down in his armchair. He picked up his violin and plucked at the strings. It somehow made him even more agitated. He picked up the bow and played a few somber notes. It helped. He knew what he really wanted but he couldn't. It would only make things worse in the long run.

John arrived five minutes after six. For those five minutes Sherlock was in agony. He had to see him, memorize him, make sure he was exactly the same. Still unpredictable. Still the exception to everything. Sherlock worried he'd dreamt it. Such a person couldn't possibly exist in real life. But Sherlock didn't get lonely so why would his mind fabricate such an illusion? He forgot emotions and concentrated on sensory things to prove John was real. The picture in his mind got clearer. It was still not enough though.

Someone knocked on the front door and Sherlock raced to answer it. His heart was beating loudly in his chest as he wrenched it open. John smiled the moment their eyes met. Sherlock found he was smiling as well. John looked nice in his dark brown suit with a white, brown and maroon stripped tie. He looked better than nice. Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and pulled him inside, up the stairs to 221B. He hoped Mrs. Hudson wouldn't come out of her flat. It was around the time for one of her "herbal soothers" so it was unlikely.

"This is your flat?" John asked in awe as he looked around the room. "You actually live her?"

"My family is paying for it while I go to university. My brother claims it will stop when I graduate." Sherlock frowned the way he always did when he thought about Mycroft. He knew Mycroft's threats were real but he could only hope mummy would circumvent Mycroft's wishes and keep paying for the flat. "Make yourself at home." Sherlock offered, going into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator but the only thing edible was a jar of olives and some brown sauce. "I'm afraid I haven't got much in the way of food. We'll be eating soon enough anyhow."

"I'm fine." John called from the other room

"I could ask Mrs. Hudson to—" Sherlock stopped in his tracks. John was staring at the skull on the mantle. Just staring. His eyes didn't widen. He didn't scream. Why was he just staring at it? He looked almost…curious.

"It's a real skull." John leaned forward for a closer look.

"Old friend" Sherlock told him. "Well I say friend…"

"Any other human body parts lying about?" John asked. He was teasing, a grin on his face. Sherlock wondered how much he should divulge. Should he tell John about the human hand in the fridge? Or the eyeballs sitting on a dish in the microwave? What would finally be enough to scare John off? What was his breaking point? Would it be better to find it now or later?

"Some" Sherlock revealed, deciding now was better. Now was always better. Less attachment at the moment. Impossible to predict level of future attachment. That is if John survived through the evening. "I do experiments to help with cases or when I'm bored."

"Right." John nodded, unfazed. Surprising. "Part of your morbid fascination thing."

"Yes."

"Can I get the grand tour?" John asked, shuffling his feet. "Or do we not have time?"

"No, we have time." Sherlock reached forward and laced his fingers through John's. "This is the living room but it's also where I work on cases and play my violin."

"You don't have a telly." John noticed.

"Seemed superfluous since I wouldn't watch it." Sherlock shrugged. He tugged at John's hand and led him into the kitchen. It was a mess, his experiments strewn across the table. John stared at the chaos, looking concerned. Sherlock should have straightened up before John got there.

He quickly pulled John away before he saw something else he might not like. They went back into the living room. Much safer in there. "There's another bedroom upstairs. It's unused. I keep meaning to turn it into a study but I never have time. I don't think I would use it anyway."

"And where's your bedroom?" John asked suggestively, leaning in closer to Sherlock.

"Through here." Sherlock opened the bedroom door and cringed. He never used to care about the mess he made. Why did he care now? Did he want John to think well of him? Obvious answer: yes. There were clothes scattered around the room, piles of books in the corners, just random clutter.

"Not much for cleaning, are you?" John asked. He was smiling. Good sign.

"I work better in chaos. I can't think when things are too tidy."

"I'm exactly the opposite." John said wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. "If I see a stain, I can't concentrate on anything else until it's gone."

"I guess this means us living together would be rather hellish."

John walked Sherlock backwards until they both tumbled onto Sherlock's bed. John pushed off the books and clothes that were piled there. Sherlock might have been annoyed if it weren't for John's lips finding his at the precise moment.

"Bit early to be thinking about that, don't you think?" John lifted his head up and chuckled, staring down at Sherlock.

"No, I don't." Sherlock replied, his tone serious.

John was startled. His eyes had widened. Was he frightened? Had Sherlock's intensity finally been too much?  _Be surprising for me John. Don't be frightened like anyone else would. Please be the exception._

John chuckled again and nuzzled his face into Sherlock's neck, his nose rubbing against his skin. "We'd have to get a telly." John muttered. His lips softly pressed against Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock breathed out a huge sigh of relief. He couldn't tell if John was being serious or playing along for appeasement. The laugh would suggest the latter. Sherlock wished he was being serious but was glad the tension was gone. He wondered what would finally do it. John seemed able to take anything Sherlock threw at him. But something would finally crack him and John would leave. If there was one thing that was an inevitability, it was that Sherlock would end up alone. But it was okay because Sherlock didn't mind being alone. Sometimes he preferred it. But not now.

XXXXXXX

Sherlock would have liked nothing more than to skip his prior engagement and stay in his room kissing John, which would hopefully turn into sex. But if he were to shirk his duties, Mycroft would kill him. Or have him killed. Mycroft wouldn't do it himself if he could have one of his goons take care of it Although Mycroft enjoyed torturing and humiliating Sherlock, it seemed reasonable that Mycroft would also enjoy killing him.

John and Sherlock had just stepped into the elevator and Sherlock pressed the button for the top floor. "Are we going to be late?" John asked chewing on his bottom lip pensively.

"It doesn't really matter if we are." Sherlock shrugged. He was in no hurry to get to this torturous evening Mycroft had planned.

John moved closer and reached out his hand. He trailed it down the floor buttons until all twenty-seven were lit up. He smiled sheepishly at Sherlock, who smiled back. John was brilliant, which was not a compliment Sherlock gave very often, or ever. John stepped closer, grabbed the lapels of Sherlock's coat and pulled him in. Sherlock had his hands on John's hips, holding him close.

Every time the lift door opened, Sherlock would open his eyes to see if someone was getting on and was always relieved when no one did. The one woman who was standing there got an obscene gesture from Sherlock and she seemed to realize it meant that she should wait for the next one. Luckily John didn't notice. Sherlock finally had to pull his lips away to breathe but also because if he didn't he would arrive at his brother's fully erect. He kissed John's temple and across his hairline, down to his ear. "Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck you right now?" Sherlock asked before taking the bottom of John's ear in his mouth and biting it lightly. John shivered in response.

John buried his face in Sherlock's chest. Sherlock had no idea if it was a good thing or a bad thing. At least not until John began giggling, his shoulders shaking. Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion. What had he said that was so funny? John lifted his head and gently pressed his lips against Sherlock's, still laughing.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked wanting to be in on the joke.

"It's nothing, I'm sorry." John shook his head, beginning to calm down.

"Tell me." Sherlock said softly, running a finger along John's cheek.

"It's just, I've wanted this, wanted _you_ for so long. If I couldn't touch you right now, feel that you were real, I would probably think I was dreaming. I never thought you'd want me, not like this."

"Did you believe me incapable of such things or believe you were unworthy?" Sherlock inquired.

"A little of both, maybe. More the second one though. It was just that you had dated Sebastian and we're so different. I guess I assumed I wasn't your type." John flushed a deep red.

"I don't have a type." Sherlock informed him.

"Yes, well, I can see that now." John said with a sigh. "But you came in to the coffee shop almost every day and you never showed the slightest interest."

"I don't do relationships John. Not if I can help it. Sebastian was about proving something to everyone, myself included. Showing that I could be in a relationship with someone, that I could be normal. I never cared for Sebastian."

"Oh." John seemed to be taking in this new information. "Then why me? Why are you trying it with me? I mean, assuming you are trying it with me."

"I have a tendency to push people away. Mostly it's my own doing but it's also because I'm not like everyone else. People don't like you if you're different, they may say they do but they really don't. You wish to know why you but it's so simple John. You yourself are different. Not in the way I'm different but in your reaction to me. There are over thirty things that should have sent you running as far away from me as you could get and yet here you are."

"So in essence, you like me because I like you?"

"If you want to be simplistic about it." Sherlock said with a shrug.

"Sherlock, I don't think anything with you is going to be simple." John said somewhat affectionately, his fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck.

"Simple is boring." Sherlock said before leaning down to kiss him.

"Mmm." John said into the kiss and Sherlock wasn't sure if it was John agreeing or just enjoying the feel of their lips together. Maybe again it was a little of both. The lift doors opened again but Sherlock was so used to the sound he didn't pay it any attention. He was too focused on sucking John's tongue to be bothered.

"Happy…birthday." The cheer died out as his family got a good look at what Sherlock was doing in the lift.

John pulled away quickly and looked baffled. He gazed at Sherlock, waiting for an explanation while furiously trying to straighten his clothes. He flushed a deeper red than Sherlock had ever seen, obviously embarrassed at having gotten caught. It was somewhat endearing. Sherlock took his hand and led him into the flat, the lift doors closing behind them. No turning back now.

"Sherlock." Mother said wrapping her arms around him into a hug. Sherlock hugged back with one arm, the other still holding John's hand. He noticed a lot of the family had dispersed, probably uncomfortable. Sherlock didn't really mind.

"Hello Mother." Sherlock said into her shoulder. She smelled as she always did, of honey and milk and old books.

"Twenty years old. You make me feel ancient." She pulled away from their hug but kept her hands on Sherlock's shoulders.

"Forty-eight is hardly ancient, mother." Sherlock told her with a grin.

"Now you've gone and done it, son of mine." She said smacking her hand against his shoulder. "Revealing a woman's age is never polite."

"Everyone here is well aware of your age."

"Your gentlemen friend isn't." She reminded him, pulling away and turning her attention to John.

"John Watson." He introduced himself, holding out his free hand.

"John." She said warmly, ignoring his hand and wrapping her arms around him in the same way she did to Sherlock. John glanced over at Sherlock, looking somewhat uncomfortable and very confused. Sherlock shrugged and grinned in response.

Mycroft appeared in a doorway, the one Sherlock knew was his study. Mycroft took out his pocket watch and tapped the face of it, signaling that Sherlock was late and Mycroft wasn't pleased. Sherlock scowled in return. He was only ten minutes late at the most and yet Mycroft would make it out like he had spoiled all the plans for the evening. As if the cake needed to be eaten at a certain time and the presents would wilt if not opened on Mycroft's schedule. It was his fucking birthday, he should have been allowed to arrive when it suited him.

"Sherlock." John said interrupting his thoughts. "Can I talk to you for a moment…in private."

"Of course John." Sherlock said leading him away from the rest of his family clamoring to give birthday wishes and meet Sherlock's date. He huffed out a breath and pulled John right past Mycroft. Sherlock couldn't help childishly sticking out his tongue at him before going into Mycroft's library.

The moment they were inside with the door locked behind them, John dropped his hand and rounded on Sherlock. "It's your birthday?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, confused about why John was upset.

"Why didn't you tell me?  
"You didn't ask."

"How the hell was I supposed to guess that out of all three hundred and sixty-five days in the year that today was your birthday?"

"Yes I see your point. Look if it were up to me I wouldn't even celebrate my birthday. It seems quite arbitrary to eat cake and have presents simply because my parents procreated."

"Then why are you here?"

"My brother insists. He believes it is important to keep in touch with one's family. Christmas and my birthday are the two times a year I'm forced to spend time with them and be cordial. Luckily the events happen close together. The rest of the year he leaves me alone. Well at least at some extent. Mycroft loves to meddle." Sherlock said bitterly. One would think Mycroft had no life of his own, the way he always seemed to be in the shadows trying to control Sherlock's. It was irritating to say the least and had gotten worse now that Sherlock had his own flat.

"So why did you bring me along. Shouldn't this be a family thing?" John asked obviously feeling like he was intruding on something. Sherlock could understand his discomfort. Sherlock found his own family tiring; he couldn't imagine how John felt.

"It was rather my hope that you might lessen the unpleasantness of the evening." Sherlock confessed, moving his body until John was pinned against one of the many bookcases.

"I'm glad you think I'm capable of such a thing." John smiled.

Sherlock kissed him, pressing him harder into the bookcase. Some of the books tumbled down around them. Neither of them could suppress their giggles as they continued to kiss.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. "You've already made everyone wait with your tardiness. I hope you're not so inconsiderate that you would keep your family waiting while you and your boyfriend make out." Mycroft said through the door, the annoyance in his voice obvious.

Sherlock contemplated throwing a book at the door and telling Mycroft to piss off but thought better of it. Might as well just suck it up and give Mycroft what he wanted instead of defying him and being forced to come back for Easter or something. Besides John was there now, he might not be later.

Sherlock dropped his head, resting his forehead against John's shoulder. He sighed loudly. "It's not that bad, is it?" John asked stroking Sherlock's hair. He leaned into John's touch, enjoying it.

"I don't like cake." Sherlock told him, making a face.

"Everybody likes cake." John reasoned.

"I don't. Too sweet. It gives me a headache." He could already taste the sickeningly sweet stuff in his mouth and it made him want to gag.

"What would you being doing for your birthday if you weren't here?" John asked softly.

"Nothing." Sherlock replied honestly. People made such a big deal about things like their birthday. Sherlock didn't see how if differed from any other day.

"Use your imagination." John said trying again. "If you could be doing anything else right now, what would it be?"

"Baker Street." Sherlock mumbled, taking time to think it over. "With you. Making Mrs. Hudson sick with worry because of the noises I'm eliciting from you."

John shivered in response and Sherlock couldn't help but grin triumphantly. "What else?" John choked out, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'd take you to Angelo's for dinner. We'd get a bottle of wine, eat some pasta. Take you home and ravish you again. Maybe play you something on my violin. Fall asleep with my arms wrapped around you."

"Perfect." John said quietly, putting his finger under Sherlock's chin to raise his head so their lips could meet.

"Sherlock, I'm growing impatient with your antics. If you continue to disregard other people's feelings and waste their time, I promise you I will make you suffer for it greatly." Mycroft pounded on the door urgently.

John gave him one more quick kiss. "Next time." He promised before leading Sherlock by the hand and out to join the festivities.

XXXXX

John had done better with Sherlock's family than Sherlock could have possibly imagined. John talked with each relative in turn, one's that Sherlock himself never bothered to acknowledge. John had played hide and seek with Sherlock's little cousins and listened to his aunt go on about her new interest in knitting. He even managed to charm Mycroft after Sherlock's brother finished his strop. Maybe John could convince Mycroft to let Sherlock out of the agreement.

And any time Sherlock was about to say something particularly nasty or was close to losing it, like magic John would appear at his side. Their fingers would intertwine and Sherlock would instantly relax. This was the first birthday in quite awhile where he hadn't made his Aunt Agnes cry. It was Sherlock's hope that he would so thoroughly offend each and every member of his family that none of them would come back for his next birthday.

Sherlock was currently sitting on the floor of his bedroom having collapsed there the moment they got home. His family had a way of draining him. He was resting up against his bed with his knees up, John in his lap. They were both shirtless and kissing, John rubbing against him, the friction causing both their nipples to get hard.

They were both panting and John leaned back against Sherlock's knees, allowing him to kiss down his chest. "You know, meeting the family isn't really a second date kind of thing." John said breathlessly.

"And what is a second date kind of thing?" Sherlock asked, his lips still against John's skin.

"Going to dinner. Going to the cinema."

"Dull." Sherlock frowned. John laughed and raised his finger to trace Sherlock's downturned lips. "Since our first date consisted of bathroom sex, I don't think those rules apply to us."

"Probably not." John agreed. He tangled his fingers into Sherlock's hair and kissed him deeply. Sherlock groaned into John's mouth, feeling himself getting hard and knew from the position they were in that John could feel it too. God how he wanted everything. Absolutely everything. What they'd done together in that bathroom had been just a taste and now Sherlock wanted more. He craved it.

John broke away, causing Sherlock to whimper. John put his hands on the bed, far away from anywhere they could touch Sherlock. He had obviously sensed they were getting hot and heavy and wanted to slow things down. If it had been up to Sherlock this would not have been the time for a conversation.

"You family wasn't at all how I would have imagined them. They were nice, I liked them. I thought they'd be more like you."

"Are you saying I'm not nice?" Sherlock asked amused. Being nice was not something he strived for.

"I guess when I pictured your family, I saw a bunch of Sherlock's running around doing experiments and solving murders, being insanely brilliant. Instead they were just ordinary people. The only person who was somewhat like you was Mycroft."

"Ugh." Sherlock said in disgust. "Never compare me to Mycroft. I'm nothing like him."

"Sorry." John laughed. "Won't happen again."

"It better not." Sherlock threatened halfheartedly as he took a handful of John's hair and wrenched his head back, biting down on John's neck. He didn't break the skin but there was a definite mark. John bucked against him in surprise. "And when will I be meeting your family? Will they hate more for corrupting their son?"

John's face fell, getting very somber. He looked away and Sherlock wondered what he had said that was wrong. He couldn't take John looking like he did at that moment, like a kicked puppy. "I don't talk to my parents." John said quietly. He tried to smile but failed miserably. Sherlock desperately wanted to kiss him, to make him feel better.

John's eyes had welled up with tears. Sherlock leaned forward and tenderly kissed just John's cheeks where the tears had fallen to. He hesitantly pressed his lips to John's, not sure if it was the right moment. Maybe John didn't want reminding of the reason he had been kicked out his parent's house. John sighed before kissing Sherlock back.

John's lips became more urgent, his hands moving off the bed to grip Sherlock's shoulders. "John." Sherlock said tilting his head back to break the kiss. He stared into John's clear blue eyes. "You don't have to prove anything, to me or anyone else."

"I'm not. I'm kissing you because I want to. If you only knew how long I wanted to…"

"Since when?" Sherlock prompted, wanting to hear although he had a pretty good guess.

"Since the very first time you walked into The Espresso Room. God I wanted to reach over, grab a fistful of your shirt and pull you in for a proper snog."

"Why didn't you?" Sherlock asked while placing soft kisses on John's neck.

"Because I didn't really fancy getting sued for sexual harassment or whatever you would call it." John chuckled.

"You think I would go to such extreme measured just because you kissed me?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes, well it wouldn't have been just a kiss would it?" John chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. "I wouldn't have been able to help myself."

It was Sherlock's turn to chuckle. "You're incorrigible John Watson. Such dirty thoughts and you didn't even know me then."  
"I still don't really  _know_  you. I mean, I know you better than I did. There's still a lot to learn though and it isn't impugning the thoughts I'm having right now." John grinned impishly.

"And what would those thoughts be?" Sherlock asked as a way of inviting him to do everything and anything he could imagine.

"I think you have a pretty good idea." John replied, taking Sherlock's face in both his hands and kissing him.

Sherlock's hand moved down to cup John's erection through his trousers. They were so tight and John was so hard he was practically spilling out. Sherlock quickly undid the fly and shoved John's underwear out of the way to grip him. John moaned loudly in response, pushing into Sherlock's hand.

"I believe you said something about wanting to fuck me." John said, his voice hoarse.

"That I did."

Sherlock shifted their bodies so John was on his back, Sherlock looming over him still stroking his cock. John reached up and undid Sherlock's belt, pulling it out of the loops and throwing it across the room. Then he undid the fly and shoved Sherlock's trousers down, freeing his erection.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him closer and trapping his mouth in a kiss. Their cocks rubbed together, making them moan into each other's mouths. John kicked off his trousers and then used his feet to push away what remained of Sherlock's.

"Lube, in the table behind you." Sherlock informed John, unable to wait any longer.

John raised his arm back and opened the drawer, fumbling around for the item Sherlock spoke of. All the while Sherlock sucked at his neck and chest, his thin frame crushing John to the floor. It took much longer than it would have if John had just gotten up to get it but neither of them wanted their bodies to separate.

John placed the tube next to them on the floor and trailed his hands down Sherlock's back, his lips making contact with any bit of skin he could find. "Oh God, please tell me I'm not dreaming."

"Would you like me to pinch you?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"You're too fucking gorgeous to be real." John groaned, his hands cupping Sherlock's arse and giving it a squeeze.

Sherlock enjoyed hearing that very much. "I'm real." He whispered into John's ear.

Sherlock got up onto his knees and grabbed the lube. He applied a decent amount to his hand and coated his fingers. He ran his finger along the cleft of John's arse and then teased his hole, just barely pressing his finger against it. John jumped from the feeling of the cold gel and arched his back as Sherlock slipped inside him.

"Oh fuck." John said shakily, his arse swallowing up Sherlock's slender fingers greedily. Sherlock could feel John opening up for him with each added finger.

"You feel amazing and I haven't even put my cock in yet." Sherlock did a few pulses with his fingers.

"Well what are you waiting for?" John growled impatiently.

Sherlock removed his fingers, applied lube to his swollen erection and hitched John's legs up for better access. He pressed his cock against John's hole and then rolled his hips, inserting himself.

"S-Sherlock." John threw his head back and gripped the rug beneath him.

"You're perfect John." Sherlock said watching John writhe beneath him. He buried himself deeper inside, John's body allowing him in easily. "You're absolutely perfect"

"Faster." John begged, biting down on his lip hard.

Sherlock gripped John's hips and began moving faster. He angled himself up and in, hitting John's prostate. "Again. I need more. Please Sherlock."

Sherlock moved his hips faster, circling them and finding that spot over and over, making John moan so loudly. The sound went straight to Sherlock's cock and he wanted it louder. He wanted John to come completely undone.

He wrapped his fist around John's prick not moving his hand except for his thumb circling the head. John began thrusting his hips, needing more. Sherlock removed his hand and moved it down to John's bullocks, resting his palm against them and pushing them down slightly. John gasped, his eyes widening.

"Sherlock, please." John said needing a release. John had tightened his body around Sherlock's cock, creating so much friction that it wouldn't take Sherlock long to finish. He ran just his fingertips up John's cock, teasing him. "Please." John begged again.

Sherlock was compliant and stroked John, applying pressure randomly and making John scream profanities. "Fuck. Bugger fuck. Fucking hell. Oh God Sherlock, fuck. Oh God."

John came hard and hot into Sherlock's hand and a moment later Sherlock did the same. His vision went white, the world disappearing around him, the only thing he could feel was himself inside John. Slowly reality came back and Sherlock smiled in satisfaction.

John sat up and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, holding him close. Their breathing and heartbeats became more regular. Sherlock kissed the top of John's head, enjoying the closeness of their bodies. "Do you really think I'm perfect or were you just saying that?" John asked.

"Of course. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it." Sherlock replied, his face his buried in John's hair. "Do you really think I'm gorgeous?

"Always have." John nodded against Sherlock's chest. "Always will."


	3. Possession

> All my life is on me now, hail the pages turning  
>  And the future is on the bound, hell don't know my fury  
>  You're all I need, you're all I need, you're all I need  
>  You're all I need, You're all I need, you're all I need  
>  Youre all I need - and maybe some faith would  
>  Do me good  
>  I don't know what I'm doing, don't know should I  
>  Change my mind, I can't decide, there's too many  
>  Variations to consider  
>  Nothing I do don't do nothing but bring me  
>  More to do, It's true, I do imbue my blue unto myself,  
>  I make it bitter  
>  Baby, lay your head on my lap one more time  
>  Tell me you belong to me  
>  Baby say that it's all gonna be alright  
>  I believe that it isn't.
> 
> -On the Bound, Fiona Apple

 

"Fuck." John shouted as boiling hot coffee poured all over his hand. He shook it to get some of the hot liquid off and went over to the sink to run cold water over it.

"Ok, that's the third time you've zoned out and spilled the coffee. What is going on with you?"Sally asked, taking over pouring the coffee while John sorted out his hand. 

"Nothing. I'm fine. I'm just happy." John turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his hand.

"You're never happy." Sally said accusingly.

"Well today I am." John said unable to meet her gaze, hoping she wouldn't know but she worked it out anyway.

"Oh my god, did something happen with the freak?"

"He's not a freak and no."

"John Watson, don't you dare lie to me!" Sally said smacking him on the arm. How did she always know?

John sighed, knowing it was futile to try and hide anything from Sally. "Ok, yes something happened."

Sally squealed in response, wrapping her arms around him in a swift hug. "You didn't really think that was all you'd have to tell me, did you?"

She pulled away but kept her hands on John's shoulders, waiting for more. "Ok, we shagged." He told her, giving up. He had mixed feelings about sharing this with Sally. He wanted to tell her, he knew she'd be happy for him but on the other hand he didn't. John and Sherlock had been living in a bubble over at Baker Street. John had spent the last three nights there. He thought being somewhere without a telly would be boring but somehow Sherlock kept things interesting. The only person they had seen was Mrs. Hudson who was very sweet and brought them some food. John could see why Sherlock liked her; she was very reminiscent of Mrs. Holmes. Other than that it had been a blissful three days of nothing but Sherlock and John. Telling Sally seemed like he was popping the bubble, letting the real world in.

"You fucking slag! How could you not tell me?" Sally asked offended.

"I don't tell you everything Sally." A few days ago this would not have been true.

"Near enough. So?"

"I told you." What did she want, a diagram? A play by play account?

"How many times? Where? Who topped?"

"Sally, that isn't information I feel comfortable sharing with you." He was never one to offer up details about his sexual encounters. On previous occasions Sally had been able to pry out information. This time John was keeping tight-lipped. He didn't want to tell Sally about how Sherlock hand bent him over the arm of the sofa and fucked him mercilessly until he begged. Or how he had bite marks from the top of his spine down to his buttocks. In fact just thinking about everything he'd done over the past three days was making him blush furiously. 

"Why not? I tell you about my sex life." She argued.

"Even when I don't ask." John grumbled.

"That's beside the point." Sally waved it off.

"Why do you care? You don't even like Sherlock. You've made your feelings about him perfectly obvious." John wished some customers would come in so he could be spared this conversation. Unfortunately it was three, which always meant it was slow.

"That doesn't mean I can't be happy for you. I don't like the guy but you do and that's all that matters."

"Ok." John shrugged and turned away. He went to go fill to sugar, just to have something to do.

"So when we were at the club, there was talk about two guys getting it on in the bathroom. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Sally asked trying to suppress a smile.

"I-I-what are you…"

"I knew it!" Sally clapped her hands together triumphantly. "I can't believe you shagged in a public toilet!"

"We didn't, it was just…" John sputtered, his cheeks getting rosier by the second.

"I saw Sherlock coming out of the bathroom looking like a mess and then you walked out and I knew it."

"Then why did you ask?" John snapped in irritation.

"Just looking for confirmation." Sally shrugged.

"Hold on, the only time we discuss my love live first is when you've got something to hide."

"Or maybe I just didn't have anything to share." Sally looked away and pretended to be busy.

"Sally, you didn't." John groaned in disappointment.

"It really wasn't my fault this time!" She insisted.

"Come on Sally how many times are we going to have this conversation? Anderson is a massive twat. He's just playing you."

"For your information, he's broken up with her." Sally said angrily.

Anderson was always a sore subject between them. John had no idea what Sally saw in him. He was rude, abrasive and annoying. He also had a girlfriend but that didn't stop him from hooking up with Sally and running to her any time he was single. Then like clockwork he would go back to his girlfriend and Sally would be devastated. John was getting pretty tired of nursing her through her heartbreak when it seemed like she kept inflicting it on herself.

"And how long will it last this time?" John asked in frustration. Sally was smart so why did she insist on acting so stupid?

"So I guess it's only ok to date jerks as long as they're willing to shag you in the toilets." She yelled,

"Hey, you don't know anything about Sherlock and I." John's lips became a straight line as unbridled fury bubbled up from inside him. How dare she compare them? John's relationship with Sherlock was nothing like what was going on with Sally and Anderson.

"And you know nothing about me and Anderson. So why don't you just piss off?" She shouted, her fists clenched in rage. She stomped out of the store and slammed the front door of the shop behind her. John grimaced. He hated fighting with Sally. Why couldn't stupid Anderson just leave her alone? Why couldn't she see how terrible he was?

Anderson was the only person John hated as much as he hated Sebastian. And of course part of that hate was because of Sherlock. Anderson went to Uni with Sherlock and was the one who fed Sally all the terrible stories. Every time John saw Anderson he had an overwhelming urge to hit him right in the face. But most of the hate stemmed from the way he treated Sally. He could never treat a girl that way Anderson did and he was infuriated that Sally seemed unable to stay away. 

John sighed and grabbed his keys. He locked up the shop before sitting down on the curb next to Sally. She had a cigarette in her mouth and her hands were shaking so bad that she couldn't get it lit. John took the lighter from her and helped her light it.

She took a deep drag but didn't say anything. John moved closer, put his arm around her and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She said finally.

"I know." John gave her a little squeeze.

"It's just every time I can fool myself into thinking things will be different and then you come along and remind me that it won't and it just…it hurts."

"I'm just trying to look out for you." John said softly.

"I know." Sally took another long drag. Her hands were getting steadier. "It's just all so fucked."

"Completely." John agreed. He felt bad being so happy while his friend was falling apart. At least he could give her this.

XXXX

"Sherlock." John groaned, shifting his body so he could look at him. "I keep telling you. You can't know absolutely everything about a person."

They were lying together on Sherlock's sofa, back to chest. Sherlock arm was wrapped around John's middle, keeping him close. "Why not?"

"Because it's impossible. Besides it's supposed to happen gradually. If you knew everything, there would be nothing left and you'd get bored." John reasoned. It wasn't the first time this subject had been brought up.

"I know, I just…I don't like the idea that other people know things about you that I don't."

"Alright." John said flipping over so he was lying stomach to stomach on top of Sherlock. He rested his chin on Sherlock's chest, he head moving up and down with each breath. "Ask me anything."

"Anything at all?" Sherlock's eyes widened and he smiled like it was Christmas come early.

"Anything. I won't lie. You have the next half an hour to ask away."

"Why only half an hour?"

"Because if I don't put a time limit on it you'll interrogate me all night. Also that's how much time you have before you need to start getting ready for class." They'd been spending enough time together that they more or less knew each other's schedules. Although there were always times when Sherlock would be off on one of his cases, ruining their plans. John said he didn't mind and he tried not to but it was usually disappointing.

"Ugh, I'd rather skip it. I'm not learning anything anyway."

"Well any time you want to switch, I'll happily go off to class and you can work at The sodding Espresso Room."

"You're wasting my half an hour."

"Right, sorry."

They shifted their bodies so they were both lying on their sides, facing each other. The sofa wasn't very large so they were quite close, their bodies pressed together. Sherlock stretched his body trying to get comfortable, causing bits of him to push into John. It wasn't meant to be an arousing movement but it didn't stop John from getting a tiny bit turned on.

John took a deep breath and waited for the questioning to begin. He wondered why he even suggested it in the first place. Half an hour was enough time for them to shag. Why hadn't he suggested that instead? But he knew this was something Sherlock wanted and John couldn't deny him anything. It was also incredibly flattering that Sherlock wanted to know so much about him. Yet there was the niggling voice in the back of his head saying that once Sherlock did know everything, he'd leave. John pushed it from his mind and focused his attention on Sherlock's striking grey eyes.

"Ready." John gave an encouraging nod.

"Why did your parents kick you out of the house?"

"Oh. Um…" he wasn't sure what he was expecting but that wasn't it. He shifted on the couch uncomfortably. "Isn't there an easier question we could start with?"

"Well I already know the answer so I don't see why you're getting all uppity about it."

"If you already know the answer then why did you ask?" John snapped in annoyance.

"Simply establishing a base so I can tell when you're lying." Sherlock said unaffected by John's irritation.

"Can't you just trust me to tell the truth?"

"I'll feel better about it if I can spot it on my own. You did say I could ask anything." Sherlock reminded him.

"Fine. He kicked me out because I told him I was bisexual."

"Why did you say bisexual instead of gay?"

"Because I am bisexual."

"It wasn't just to soften the blow?" Sherlock asked clearly skeptical.

"No, it wasn't. I do fancy girls too you know."

Sherlock didn't seem to like that. The corners of his mouth turned down and it seemed impossible but he managed to move away from John on the couch. John rolled his eyes and slid an arm around Sherlock, pulling him back. "If you don't want to know, don't ask."

Sherlock regained his composure almost immediately. He went back to being cold and calculated, studying John with his fixed gaze. "What had you heard about me before we met?"

John bit the inside of his cheek nervously. He wasn't sure this was information he wanted to divulge.

"Come on, I know you'd heard things. Someone would have told you about me although you probably actively sought out information on your own." Sherlock said impatiently.

"Okay, um, I had heard about people who went to school with you thinking you were odd." He was putting it mildly. "I also heard about your break up with Sebastian. The whole thing with you uh…following him."

"And you still wanted to be with me?" He wasn't surprised by this just curious. Sherlock always seemed intrigued by John's motives especially when it came to John's feelings for him. It was like Sherlock didn't trust them.

"Yes." John reached over and laced his fingers through Sherlock's.

"Why?" Sherlock huffed out a breath in exasperation as if he just didn't understand it.

"Sebastian's a wanker, I wasn't exactly going to take his word on things. Everyone said you were weird but I guess I wanted the chance to make up my own mind about you. Besides, I don't think I could stay away from you even if I tried."

"I can't think of what I've done to deserve you, John." Sherlock pressed his lips to his, biting the bottom one lightly.

"No more questions?" John asked breaking away for a moment.

"I know everything I need to know right now. I may have more questions later."

"Who says I'll give this opportunity later? Maybe this was a one time offer." John teased.

"Irrelevant." Sherlock waved it off. "I know everything that's important right now. And I still have twenty minutes before I have to get class."

John was about to say something else when Sherlock's lips covered his again. John shrugged and focused on the kiss. He slipped his hand under Sherlock's t-shirt and splayed it flat against the small of his back. He tugged him closer so their crotches rubbed against each other.

Sherlock's phone went off and John pulled away with a groan. If he knew anything, it was that not even the promise of sex would keep Sherlock from a crime scene. He also knew that was the only reason anyone ever texted Sherlock. He had no idea how Sherlock could go from making out and being fully erect to being completely focused on a case.

Sherlock was up in seconds, his thumbs moving at lightening speed to text Lestrade and say he'd be there soon. John sighed and resigned himself to an evening alone. He could have stayed at Baker Street. He was used to being there anyway. But there was something pathetic about staying at his boyfriend's flat, knocking one out. Beside there wasn't a telly to watch so what was he supposed to do all day?

Sherlock was in the bedroom getting out of his pajamas and John stayed on the sofa trying to get over his disappointment. He sat up and slipped into his shoes while contemplating what to do with his evening that had just opened up. He could only hope Sally was also free. Otherwise he would sit at home by himself watching telly.

John went into Sherlock's room to say goodbye. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Of course." Sherlock replied hardly paying attention.

John slipped on his coat and did his best not to take Sherlock's disinterest personally. It was just how Sherlock was. He should have been used to it by now. This was much better than the time he'd left John waiting all night at Angelo's for him. That had  definitely stung as people spent the night shooting him pitying looks. And Sherlock had more than made up for it. So why did it still sting? And why did every following brush off hurt just as much?

"John." Sherlock said entering the living room just as John reached for the door handle. Sherlock was standing in the doorway of his room putting his gloves on. He was in his usual wool coat, a blue scarf knotted around his neck. He looked striking and John thought he would have been over how attractive Sherlock was by then and yet his breath still caught in his throat when he saw him. It was colossally unfair. "You wouldn't want to…come with me, would you?"

"Seriously?" John asked taken aback. Sherlock had never invited him along to a crime scene before. He was used to Sherlock dashing off with hardly so much as a goodbye. "Won't I be in the way?"

"I'm sure it will be fine."

"I'd love to." John said beaming.

XXXX

It was not quite as fine as Sherlock had anticipated. Lestrade seemed more than a little annoyed at John's presence there. Although John did get a jolt of giddiness when Sherlock said "He's with me" to the Detective Inspector. Mostly he just tried to stay out of the way so as not to bother anyone. He stood in the corner of the room, far away from the crime scene, and watched Sherlock.

And it was amazing. It was unlike anything John had ever seen before. If he hadn't already been head over heels for Sherlock, watching him deduce would have cause John to fall in love with him all over again. It was also frightfully intimidating. John had known Sherlock was clever, much more than John himself but he didn't realize the level until he watched Sherlock in action. Just another reason for him to feel inadequate.

Every once in awhile John would involuntarily exclaim something. Each time Sherlock grinned smugly, his chest puffing up, enjoying John's adoration. John couldn't help wondering if this was Sherlock's motive for bringing John along, although he couldn't have known John would be so vocal about his astonishment. Then again John was slowly realizing he should not underestimate Sherlock.

That night was the first time John was inside Sherlock. Sherlock was on top, straddling John's hips, always in control. His movements were slow and deliberate and he tightened himself around John, causing an unbelievable amount of friction. Sherlock had had his hand over his own cock, bringing himself to orgasm while John's hand had covered Sherlock's, helping him get there. Their other hands were entwined, pushing and pulling against each other as their movements needed.

Afterwards they lied together on their sides, face to face, mimicking their position from the couch earlier that day. Yet this time their arms and legs were wrapped around each other, the moonlight streaming in through the window, onto Sherlock's face, making him look angelic and unreal. It was that night that John finally told Sherlock he loved him. Sherlock didn't say it back but John didn't mind. He hadn't really expected him to. John hadn't said it for reciprocity. He simply couldn't stop himself from proclaiming it and he didn't regret it in the slightest.

The next day Sherlock asked John to move in. John had worried that Sherlock was only asking out of guilt. Sherlock reasoned that John was always over there anyways so it made no sense for him to pay for a flat he never used. John couldn't argue that. Most of his stuff was already at Sherlock's anyway. He insisted on moving his things into the bedroom upstairs, just to feel like he had somewhere to go when they needed space from each other. Yet every night he retired to Sherlock's bed, ignoring the one waiting for him upstairs but it was nice to know it was there if he needed it.

The next day John forced Sherlock to go with him to buy a telly. It was a rather hellish experience as Sherlock whined the whole time and refused to offer any input. Finally John just bought the one he wanted. It took awhile to clear a space for it back at the flat and together they curled up exhausted on the couch and watched Doctor Who.

XXXXX

The Rules were these:

1\. No Kissing

2\. No touching "arousal areas" such as tits, crotch or arse.

3\. When one of them said it was over, it was over.

4\. No getting drunk

5\. No fighting –verbal or physical

6\. Always stay in each other's eye sight

7\. No taking things seriously

8\. No talking to one person all night

9\. No talking with people you've already had sexual encounters with

10\. No talking to each other until it was over

The game was as follows. Sherlock and John went into a public place, usually the club where they met, and split up. They each went up to either one or several people and flirted. The point was to see who could make the other person jealous first. Then they would go home and shag.

John had no idea how this game of theirs had come about. Well, he did but it had escalated from a very tame incident. One time John and Sherlock had gone out together and John had chatted up some girl at the bar. It had been some harmless flirting, mostly on the girls end but it didn't stop Sherlock from getting insanely jealous. It had resulted in one of the hottest nights of John's life as Sherlock took him home and ravished him to the point where he couldn't walk straight for a week.

It wasn't something they did all the time, just when they needed it. Sometimes it was because they were bored and other times it was because they wanted that same fantastic effect that only came from making Sherlock crazy with jealousy. Not that the sex wasn't great without the game, it was just different. It added a whole other level of intensity that they both enjoyed on occasion.

The jealousy did swing both ways but John didn't get off on his envy the way Sherlock did. Instead John got off on Sherlock's need for him. The way Sherlock looked at him, his eyes dark and domineering, like John was his greatest treasure. Sherlock fed off his own jealousy and John fed off the possessiveness that was spurred by it. John had never felt so wanted in all his life.

They walked into the club, getting in without waiting in line like Sherlock always did. John still had yet to find out the reason why Sherlock got a special pass. Although John was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. They split up immediately, Sherlock heading to the bar while John went to the dance floor. John thought he looked particularly nice that night, in a red button down shirt, a dark grey vest, skinny black tie and tight black jeans, the whole topped off with a flat cap. Sherlock had once commented that he liked John in red so the shirt was mainly for his benefit but he also hoped other people would share the sentiment. Sherlock looked amazing as always in a tight button down shirt with more buttons than necessary undone, acid wash jeans and a leather jacket. It was a wonder that John could even let Sherlock out of his sight while he looked that good.

He found his way to the middle of the dance floor, to a spot where he still had a clear view of the bar. He danced not really with anyone but it didn't take long for a girl to come over and start moving with him. He placed his hands on her hips and they swayed together in time to the music. John glanced over at the bar where Sherlock was talking with that mousy girl they'd seen there before, Molly. John made a face like you-can-do-better-than-that. Sherlock instantly said something, probably rather nasty from Molly's reaction, and moved on to someone else.

It was a man this time, toned and muscled, his shirt tight to show off his abs. Sherlock batted his eyelashes and touched his hand to the guy's bicep. John knew it was just Sherlock shamming. John was able to spot the difference between when Sherlock was really interested and when he was just faking. And yet Sherlock was very, very good at faking that sometimes John wondered whether he could really tell or just convinced himself he could to feel better about it.

Sherlock moved his chair closer to the guy and leaned his whole body in. John knew it was just a façade for his benefit but it didn't stop his stomach from bottoming out. John gritted his teeth in determination and turned his attention to the girl he was dancing with. She spun around so she was facing away from John and moved in closer. She rolled her body against his, her arse rubbing against his crotch.

There had been a long debate between Sherlock and John over whether grinding on the dance floor was allowed or not. It had finally been decided it was since John assured Sherlock it was fairly innocent. But John knew it would drive Sherlock up the wall. It always did. John moved in time with the random girl, their bodies in perfect synchronicity to the deafening club beat.

John risked another glance at the bar. Sherlock was sitting so close to the guy he was basically in his lap. John rolled his eyes and brushed the dark hair away from the girl's face and whispered something in her ear. She didn't seem to understand or hear him but it didn't matter, he had achieved the desired effect. Sherlock was staring, a scowl adorning his face. The girl John was dancing with lifted her arms over her head, exposing her midriff. John trailed his hands along the exposed flesh and the girl giggled in response.

John was playing dirty and he knew it. After all, that was part of the game. Still he thought he better switch it up before Sherlock's head exploded. For some reason Sherlock was always extra sensitive when John hit on and flirted with girls. It was like he feared John would suddenly realize he didn't like blokes anymore and would leave Sherlock. He didn't know why being bisexual seemed to be such an issue for Sherlock. John had no intention of leaving Sherlock for anyone whether they were male or female. It felt like something Sherlock should be well aware of, especially considering how much John enjoyed being topped by Sherlock.

John left the girl he was dancing with to go to the bar. He walked to the opposite side, away from Sherlock and ordered an Irish car bomb. He dropped the shot in and began to chug, people around him cheering him on. He triumphantly slammed the glass down on the bar and wiped his mouth. A few people slapped him on the back in congratulations and John just laughed. He risked a glance over at Sherlock, who had an eyebrow cocked. They both knew it didn't take much to get John drunk. He hated being such a lightweight but unfortunately it was just how his body worked. Still one shot and one pint were not enough to do it. He wasn't about to break one of their rules.

It didn't mean he wasn't feeling the effects of it. He was properly buzzed and went back to the dance floor to have a good time. He danced with three different people, two guys and one girl. He barely glanced at Sherlock at all, knowing more than anything that would send Sherlock over the edge. If there was one thing Sherlock couldn't abide, it was being ignored.

John felt good about knowing Sherlock so well that he knew exactly what buttons to press in order to drive him crazy. Knowing Sherlock in that way had been more than he had ever hoped for. They'd been together for almost three months and Sherlock didn't seem to be getting bored of John. It was still something John worried about constantly. Also about the fact that Sherlock still hadn't said he loved him. John hadn't said it again, he didn't think it needed to be repeated but he was still waiting to hear it back.

Still there were hints that Sherlock felt the same way. The most obvious was the fact that Sherlock had asked them to live together. Another was this game of theirs. The first few times Sherlock and John got home to have sex, Sherlock had been rather manic about it. He'd marked John's body with his lips, teeth and nails, claiming him as his own. When he'd finally gotten to the penetration, he'd thrust roughly into John, saying over and over that John was his and that no one else could have him. John figured it was the closest to an "I love you" he was ever going to get, which was why he continued playing.

John was dancing with another girl who had the end of his tie in her hands and was pulling him closer by it when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He didn't need to turn to see who it was but he did anyway. Sherlock was standing there looking pissed off, his lips pursed and his whole body tense. John pulled his tie away from the girl's hands. "Sorry love." He shouted over the music, giving her an apologetic look and then following Sherlock out of the club.

John kept his distance in the cab, knowing that if he were to touch Sherlock it would all be over. He wouldn't be able to help himself and would tear his clothes off right there. Their bodies were radiating heat, making the space between them feel electrically charged. John wanted nothing more than the grasp Sherlock's hand and hold it tightly but even that would be too much. They spent the entire trip staring out their windows in silence.

Sherlock paid the cabbie when they got the Baker Street and hopped out of the cab. John waited by the door, leaving Sherlock ample room to unlock it without them touching. Sherlock climbed the stairs, John always three steps behind him. His hands were fisted at his sides to try and maintain his self-control.

Sherlock went into the bedroom first. John stood outside the door and took a moment to breathe deeply before entering. Sherlock stood on one side of the bed and John took his place at the other. Sherlock nodded just once and together they began stripping away their clothes. Their eyes were fixated on each other as they slowly unbuttoned their shirts, each dropping to the floor when they were done.

This was not part of their game. This had never been part of the game. This was a different beast entirely. This part had evolved over time. The first time it had been a blur of body parts and lips while Sherlock took John quickly and roughly. Now it was a test of endurance. To see how long they could prolong the moment where John was wholly and completely Sherlock's.

They had both achieved piles of clothes next to their sides of the bed. Sherlock stared at him intently and John wanted nothing more than for Sherlock to touch him. But that wasn't part of the plan. John knew he had gone a bit red but it was fine because Sherlock liked him in red.

John went into the bedside table and extracted the small bottle of lubricant. He slicked up his fingers, coating them in the cold gel. He stood back in his spot directly across from Sherlock, the entire bed between them. It felt like an ocean. Slowly, John reached behind himself and inserted a finger into his own arse. He leaned into his own touch until he was inside all the way to his second knuckle.

"S-Sherlock." John stammered, his eyes shut tight. He slipped another finger in and began moving them, opening himself up. With the third finger, John's eyes fluttered open and he glanced at Sherlock through his lowered lashes. Sherlock had his arms crossed over his chest, his nails digging into his arm. John knew it was taking every once of self-control Sherlock had not to touch himself at the sight of John preparing himself for him.

When John was ready, he slipped his fingers out and crawled onto the bed, He got on his knees and placed his hands on the railing of the bed. He felt the bed shift as Sherlock got on as well. John gripped the bed tightly, trying to ignore the overwhelming sensation to be touched. He could hear Sherlock applying the lubricant to his own cock and knew it wouldn't be long. His body was aching for it.

The first sensation John felt was Sherlock's lips ghosting against his neck, almost touching but not quite. It caused John's skin to break out into goosebumps. Just Sherlock's fingertips trailed down John's back, hardly touching him at all. John knew Sherlock was tracing marks he'd left from getting carried away at earlier times. They might scar but John wasn't sure he minded. He liked the idea of having permanent proof that he belonged to Sherlock. He couldn't help thinking that probably wasn't a healthy attitude to have but he couldn't help it.

When Sherlock's lips finally pressed against John's skin, a wave of joy crashed over him. Sherlock sucked at John's neck, leaving a mark, John let his head fall back, resting on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock reached up and touched John's face, turning it to the side so their lips could meet. It was innocent at first but quickly became more urgent. Sherlock pulled away and John groaned in disappointment.

Sherlock kissed down John's back, his long, slender fingers trailing down John's front and then back up. He used his knees to spread John's legs further apart and placed himself right up against him. John tried to swallow, his mouth had gone unbearably dry in anticipation of what he knew came next.

Sherlock inserted just the tip of his cock into John's hole and then slowly pushed himself in until it had disappeared inside John entirely. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's middle and held him close, the upper half of their bodies pressed completely together.

Sherlock began to move his hips slowly, his thrusts even and controlled. John bit his bottom lip to keep from screaming in ecstasy as Sherlock found that spot each and every time. Sherlock knew his body so well now that it took hardly any effort to drive John insane with pleasure. A steady stream of precome was flowing out of John's untouched cock and he desperately wanted to grip himself or have Sherlock do the same.

As if he could read John's mind, one of Sherlock's hands moved down and curled around John's prick. John bucked into Sherlock's hand and then ground himself back against Sherlock's hips, moving into each sensation in turn. Sherlock's lips were against John's shoulder, biting into his flesh without breaking the skin. There were so many overwhelming sensations going on that John thought he might lose his mind.

His orgasm was building inside him and this was normally the part where he would start cursing up a storm. Sherlock seemed to sense this and his other hand left John's stomach and clamped over his mouth. John playfully licked at it but Sherlock didn't remove it.

"I think you've gotten too good at this game of ours." Sherlock said seductively into John's ear. His voice was like liquid chocolate and his breath tickled. "I only lasted half an hour. I can usually hold out longer."

John wanted to respond but the hand over his mouth made it difficult. Maybe Sherlock didn't want an answer.

"You make me feel insane John. I could go mad from my need for you."

John wanted to tell Sherlock he felt the same way but instead tried to keep from coming undone. Why did Sherlock's low voice in his ear have such an affect on him? Maybe another time he'd see if Sherlock could make him come just by talking to him with no touching at all.

"You should see the way people look at you John. They'd love to have you."

It was nothing compared to the way they looked at Sherlock. Apparently he didn't notice.

"But you're mine." Sherlock growled, gripping John's cock tighter.

 _Yes._ John thought, unable to speak.  _Yes I'm yours. Always._

"I'm the only one who gets to see you like this. To touch you. To be inside you. To make you come undone."

_If you only knew how thoroughly you do so._

Almost like he was emphasizing the point, John came into Sherlock's hand, his cries muffled. John bit down on Sherlock's hand a bit harder than he meant to and could taste a tiny bit of blood leaking into his mouth. Sherlock didn't seem to notice at all.

"No one else can have you like this. No one."

 _Never._ John promised silently.

"Every bit of you is mine."

_Yes Sherlock, yes. Take it all, it's yours. Everything. I love you. God I love you so much._

"And I'm yours." Sherlock whispered quietly.

With one final thrust, Sherlock's orgasm ripped through him, causing his body the shudder as he came, He held John tightly against him with one arm, the other still at John's mouth, pressing in and leaving marks until his orgasm finished.

Sherlock's grip loosened but he didn't pull away. He dropped his head against John's shoulder and just stayed there with their bodies against each other. John released a hand from the railing and reached back to thread his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock leaned into the touch as he always did, enjoying the feel.

Sherlock dropped his hand from John's mouth and placed it on John's chest, just over his heart. John had no idea how long they stayed like that. Maybe they fell asleep that way, he couldn't remember moving. It didn't really matter because he woke up in Sherlock's arms, the only place in the world he wanted to be.

XXXXX

John had never heard of Jim Moriarty before, or "Sherlock's friend Jim" as Sherlock put it. It was sort of John's understanding that Sherlock didn't really have friends. In all the time they'd been together, John had never met any of Sherlock's friends and Sherlock didn't mention any. At least not until that moment.

John wasn't sure if that fact Sherlock hadn't told him about Jim was a good thing or a bad thing. Was Jim not important enough to mention or had Sherlock omitted him because there was something he didn't want John to know? Either way John felt uneasy as they made their way in Moriarty's house. He was at least somewhat comforted by the fact that Sally was there with them. John had been trying in vain over the past few months to get the two of them to be civil to each other. It hadn't really worked out but he was determined to keep trying.

"Sherlock!" Someone said the moment they were through the doorway. A small and thin man with dark hair and sunken in eyes greeted them from the staircase. He had on what looked like an expensive suit and a cone shaped party hat on his head that looked dreadfully out of place. "You came!"

"Of course Jim, just as I do every year." Sherlock grinned back. John didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Darling it has been much too long." Moriarty said descending the stairs as if he was in the middle of some grand play they were the audience of.

Sally and John exchanged glances and John shifted uneasily. Jim swept over and put his hands on Sherlock's arms, kissing both his cheeks. John pursed his lips but didn't say anything. Sherlock reached over and fingered the elastic strap on Moriarty's hat, snapping it a bit.

"Doesn't really suit you Jim." Sherlock said in amusement.

"Oh you know me, once I get into the partying spirit I just can't help myself." Jim grinned wickedly and the sight made John shiver. He'd never instantly disliked anyone before now. He usually tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. "And look you brought guests! So unlike you Sherlock."

"Yes, these are my friends John and Sally." Sherlock introduced them and John's blood went cold. Friend. The word hung in the air like fog.

"I'm not his friend." Sally interjected.

"Pity." Jim said eyeing her in disgust. "Sherlock is very loyal to those he considers worth it. And John was it?"

"Yes." John replied not liking the way Moriarty was staring at him.

"You didn't tell me you had a new beau." Jim's eyes flickered to Sherlock's before his lips curled into a smile. It was one of the most frightening things John had ever seen.

"Knew you'd figure it out on your own."

"A test, was it?" Jim asked delighted. "Or were you worried about hurting my feelings?"

"Even if you had feelings, I wouldn't concern myself with hurting them." Sherlock shot back playfully.

"Just so." Jim replied, his eyes blazing. He moved in closer to John, much closer than was normal or comfortable. "Sherlock can be so naughty at times, but I hardly need to tell you that, do I John?"

John looked over at Sherlock, feeling rather helpless. He wasn't sure how to respond to the strange little man before him. All he knew was that he wanted to be far, far away and quickly. Sally seemed to sense his distress and tugged at his shirt sleeve. "Come on John, let's go get a beer."

"Keg's in the kitchen." Jim informed them in a sing-song way as Sally led John away. "You two enjoy yourselves."

John looked back at Sherlock but he was already into a deep conversation with Jim, the two of them leaning close together. John felt a pang in his chest. This wasn't part of their game, this was real. And John felt a panic spreading through him. It wouldn't have been so bad if Sherlock had mentioned Jim before but now it felt like Sherlock was keeping secrets. What else didn't John know?

He sat on the couch with Sally, both of them nursing their beers. They chatted a bit but they were both dancing around the subject of Sherlock and Jim, which made things extremely uncomfortable. The night was made worse still when Anderson showed up with his girlfriend, whom he had recently reconciled with. Sally clutched John's arm in distress.

"Let me just go find Sherlock and we'll leave." He said knowing she wouldn't last long with their present company.

Sally could only nod in response before downing the last of her beer. She went into the kitchen to fill her glass while John went in search of Sherlock. The house had gotten rather crowded and moving through the bodies was difficult enough without looking around for Sherlock. He finally went upstairs and began searching the rooms. He got a few embarrassing eyefuls of people going at it.

Nothing could have prepared John for what he saw when he finally opened the door with Sherlock behind it. Sherlock was lying on a bed, full clothed so that was something. He was leaning against Jim's chest, his head resting on his shoulder. A strap was tied around his upper arm and Jim had just finished injecting him with something. Moriarty glanced up at John, an amused smile on his lips as he pulled the needle from Sherlock's arm. Sherlock looked still and lifeless against Moriarty, his eyes unfocused.

John rushed over and kneeled next to the bed. He grabbed Sherlock's face and forced him to meet his gaze. "What the hell have you done to him?" John asked outraged.

"Nothing he didn't want done." Moriarty shrugged untying the strap from Sherlock's arm and rolling up his sleeve to put around his own.

"Sherlock." John said gently shaking him. Sherlock blinked but was hardly coherent. He looked at John as if he didn't even recognize him. "Sherlock, it's me. It's John."

"John?" Sherlock asked in confusion. It was like he didn't even recognize the name, like it held no meaning for him.

"What the hell did you give him?" John turned to Moriarty. He was so angry his body was shaking.

"Calm down dear, it's not his first time." Moriarty was completely unfazed. He grabbed another needle from his bedside table and slipped it into his arm, pressing down on it until it was empty.

"What?" John asked baffled by what Jim had just said.

"Oh." Jim smirked, having just figured something out. "So you didn't know about Sherlock's little vice? Yes, you're precious little Sherlock is a junkie. He comes to me when he needs a fix."

"No." John shook his head, unable to comprehend. How could he have not known? Why had Sherlock kept it from him? And why was he learning about it from someone he had just met?

"John." Sherlock said reaching up and grabbing a fistful of John's coat. "Don't be angry with me."

Sherlock looked so deflated and pathetic, his eyes bloodshot from the drugs. John couldn't even bare to look at him. How could this be  _his_  Sherlock? The person he thought he knew so well. That knew him better than anyone. It didn't even seem like the same person. John wanted to cry. He wanted to smash things and burn things and throw a fit. He wanted to go over and beat Moriarty to a pulp. He didn't want this to be real. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare to find himself in Sherlock's arms and learn there was no such person as Jim Moriarty.

"You weren't supposed to see. You were never meant to see me." Sherlock mumbled, clinging to John's coat, burying his face against John's stomach.

John swallowed and closed his eyes, unable to take anymore. "Perhaps you could take your little domestic dispute elsewhere?" Moriarty asked, interrupting John's thoughts. His tone was bored, like the two of them were being unseemly. "You're ruining my high."

John clenched his jaw and his eyes snapped open. He pulled away from Sherlock's grasp and went over to Moriarty. John shoved him violently against the wall and grabbed his collar, lifting him off his feet. Jim just grinned in response, not in the least bit concerned.

"Oh yeah, come on Johnny boy. I like it rough." Moriarty said with a wink.

"Listen you fucking parasite." John spat viciously. "You come near Sherlock again and I will hurt you."

"Alright sweetheart, I believe you. I'll keep my distance. The problem is can you keep him away from  _me._  You see I never call him, I don't even have his number. I could get it, if I wanted but see I don't need to because he always seeks me out."

"You're lying."

"You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?" Jim gave him a pitying look. "Sorry Johnny, I'm just too irresistible."

Before he could think about it, John's fist swung back and cracked Jim in the face. He let go of his collar and dropped Jim to the floor. He gave him a quick kick to the stomach to knock the wind out of him to shut him up. Jim just laughed in response, the sound mixing with his coughing as he tried to get air back in his lungs.

"Sherlock, we're going." John said through gritted teeth.

"John, I—"

"Sherlock, it would be best if you didn't speak to me right now." John said turning his back and leaving the room. He didn't bother to look back to see if Sherlock was following him. He was almost relieved that Sherlock didn't. John was too angry and too upset. He wanted to go back to Baker Street to find his Sherlock there waiting for him but he knew it was a pipe dream. He'd just seen the real Sherlock. The one Sherlock had taken great pains to keep hidden.

"Come on, we're getting the hell out of here." John said to Sally when he found her on the couch looking bored and annoyed.

"Oh thank god." She said putting her beer on the table and following him without question. She didn't ask where Sherlock was and John was grateful. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even process anything that had happened in that room. He sat in the back of the cab with Sally, feeling lost. She slipped an arm around him and he rested his head on her shoulder and allowed himself to cry. Sally patted his arm and told him everything would be fine. John knew better. Nothing would ever make what he saw in that room fine.


	4. Darkness

> You are the hole in my head  
> You are the space in my bed  
> You are the silence in between  
> What I thought and what I said
> 
> You are the night time fear  
> You are the morning when it's clear  
> When it's over, you're the start  
> You're my head, you're my heart
> 
> No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
> I never knew daylight could be so violent  
> A revelation in the light of day  
> You can't choose what stays and what fades away
> 
> And I'd do anything to make you stay  
> No light, no light  
> Tell me what you want me to say
> 
> Through the crowded islands, crying out  
> And in your place there were a thousand other faces  
> I was disappearing in plain sight  
> Heaven help me, I need to make it right
> 
> You want a revelation  
> You want to get right  
> But it's a conversation  
> I just can't have tonight
> 
> -No Light, Florence + The Machine

Sherlock awoke with a migraine and groaned, flipping over and pushing his face into his pillow to block out the light. This was never something he missed, the come down. The day after where it felt like his whole body had been steamrolled and then thrown into a meat grinder. He'd overdone it the night before. It almost never got that bad but he'd been trying to be good, for John's sake, abstaining so when he did finally crack he'd done too much. Needed it too much.

 _John._ He hadn't come home last night. Sherlock had stayed up waiting for him. He wanted to talk to him, to explain. John couldn't be that mad about it, could he? Still John not coming home was a pretty big indicator that he was. He'd probably spent the night at Sally's. Nothing would happen, of course. John didn't feel that way about Sally. Still it didn't stop the familiar envious feeling Sherlock had towards their friendship, their closeness. The fact that he was forced to share John with her on occasion.

Sherlock heard someone open the front door using their keys. It could have been Mrs. Hudson so he listened closely. No, footsteps too heavy to be Mrs. Hudson. Whoever it was seemed to be dragging their feet. The person went directly upstairs and started ruffling around John's room. The noise was excruciating but Sherlock got up to check anyway.

He stopped in the kitchen to get some aspirin and a glass of water before he died of dehydration. Then he slowly made his way up the stairs to John's room. He hardly ever went in it, there had never been any need. The only reason there would ever be to go in there was if John was and John barely used it.

Sherlock opened the door a crack and peered in. It was indeed John but he looked terrible. He was in the same clothes as the day before, rumpled from sleep. His eyes were red and puffy, so he'd been crying. The sight made Sherlock's heart hurt. He swallowed and slipped into the room, standing up against the wall silently.

He had no idea where to begin. John didn't even look at him. He tried to say he was sorry but the words wouldn't come out. It wasn't hard to say, just two little words but they couldn't get past his throat. He wanted to fix things, he needed to fix things. John was clearly upset. He couldn't stand it.  _John, look at me. Please. Say something. Tell me what to say to make it right. You always know the right thing to say._

"I've mentioned my sister Harry before." John began, keeping his gaze at anywhere but Sherlock. "I don't think I told you that she's a borderline alcoholic. In a few years she'll just be an alcoholic. I can't tell you how many times she's texted me at the crack of dawn asking me to come get her from a strangers house where she blacked out. I've lost count of the number, the days she's lost to the drinking. I think it's partly due to the fact that she's afraid to tell our father she's a lesbian. It's why I told him my secret first, hoping she'd follow my lead. She didn't though. She was too scared of the reprisals. She's always been a bit of a daddy's girl. I guess she was afraid of disappointing him. I can't really blame her after what happened with me. But I still hoped and I still enabled her habit, picking her up from strangers houses because she needed me and I felt responsible for her even though she's older than I am."

"John, I don't see what—"

"I won't do it again." John cut him off, finally meeting his gaze. "I-I can't. I won't sit around watching another addict take advantage of me. I can't sit back and smile and pretend it's all fine when it's not. Not with you."

"John, it got out of hand last night. It will never get that bad again. I swear." Sherlock promised, moving closer.

"You can't make promises like that to me." John closed his eyes and shook his head. "You'll tell me what you think I want to hear and I'll naively believe you because I want it to be true. But then it won't be and I'll be heartbroken and the cycle will start all over again. I just…I can't."

"John, it won't be like that. I can control it. It's not usually like that." Sherlock gripped John's shoulders, begging him to change his mind.

"Just stop. Stop making promises you're just going to end up breaking. Trust me, I've heard them all with Harry. I won't drink as much. I'll only drink on the weekends. I'll only drink with my friends. I'll limit myself to one drink a night." John listed them off, imitating Harry's voice.

"I'm not your sister."

"It would be pretty disturbing if you were." John joked for a moment and then went right back to being serious. "But you're still an addict. And I've had enough experience to know how this goes. So I'm going to fastforward all the torture and heartache and skip to the part where I leave."

Leave. The word made Sherlock's whole body go cold. John couldn't leave. Not over this. "I think you're being a bit hypocritical John."

"What?"

"Need I remind you that the first time we truly spoke you offered me drugs?"

"That was—"

"And yet you'll leave me for actually doing them."

"Those were Sally's and she gave them to me as an ice breaker because I didn't know what to say. I never would have taken them." John said defensively.

"Oh yes you would have." Sherlock smirked, knowing the truth. "If I had taken one of the pills, you would have felt obligated to take the other."

"It's different and you know it." John said, sticking to his convictions.

"How?"

"Because taking one hit of ecstasy is not the same as getting so strung out you're not even coherent!" John argued, raising his voice. "Besides you were shooting up last night and I didn't feel compelled to join in."

"So your discomfort is not with the drugs themselves but the amount I took?" Sherlock inferred. He'd been high in front of John before. John had just never noticed and Sherlock never said anything. He usually tried not to. He'd wait until John was at work or out with Sally but sometimes it couldn't be helped. It was usually when he had a particularly difficult case and needed to think. Other than that it wasn't hard to stop himself indulging.

"No." John replied curtly. "My problem is that you never told me. That you lied. If you never told me about something as important than this, what else haven't you told me?"

"Nothing. John, this was the only thing. I didn't want to disappoint you." Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, unable to take the way John was looking at him. "You were never supposed to know. I swear John, this was the only thing I kept from you."

"It doesn't matter." John sighed. "The trust is already gone. I told you everything, I shared everything about myself with you. Things I never told anyone, not even Sally. I wanted you to know me better than anyone. I gave you half an hour to ask me anything. Perhaps you should have allowed me the same courtesy."

"We can do that now." Sherlock offered in desperation. "Ask me anything."

"I think it's a little late for that." John replied, looking away.

"No." Sherlock grabbed his face and forced John to look at him. "It's not. It can't be. You can't leave me."

"Yes I can, actually." John corrected. He stepped away and went back over to his dresser and began packing his things.

Why was John doing this? Why did he insist on making it such a big deal? Sherlock's addiction had nothing to do with John. But of course that wasn't true. John saw Sherlock's addiction not as a weakness on Sherlock's part but on John's. Failing to be enough or keeping Sherlock from getting bored. He couldn't keep Sherlock clean and sober and shiny. John had failed to make Sherlock good.

 _Oh John._ Sherlock sighed internally. Why couldn't he see? Sherlock had explained it, he'd told him. John should have known better. Goodness was not a setting Sherlock possessed. John couldn't make Sherlock good no matter how hard he tried. He shouldn't have tried. He should have known better and now he was leaving Sherlock because of it.

"You won't leave because you love me."

"Yes well there comes a point where love has to make a concession to self-preservation."

"You can't. I'll be better. I can be better. I'm always better with you. I'll be worse if you leave."

"Sherlock, you can't guilt me into staying."

 _Why not?_ Sherlock wanted to ask.

As if he could read Sherlock's mind, John answered. "Because it won't work. If what you're saying were true, last night wouldn't have happened."

Why was John being so stubborn? The previous night wasn't about him. It was about Sherlock and what he needed. He usually could control his urges, his addiction.

"If you really want me to stay you've got to make a choice. Either the drugs or me. You can't have both."

"Don't be ridiculous John." Sherlock snapped.

"How is  _that_  ridiculous?" John asked in offense.

"Because asking me to chose between you and my drug of choice is as nonsensical as me asking you to chose between eating and breathing."

"That's not the same at all." John argued, looking at Sherlock like he was mental. Maybe he was. "I need to breath and eat to survive. You don't need cocaine. For that matter you really don't need me either."

"Wrong on both accounts. The cocaine helps me focus my thoughts. It helps me think. And I believe I've made my need for you quite obvious."

"Are you really so desperate to be more clever than everyone else that you'll pay for the privilege with your life?"

"I'm already more clever than everyone else."

"And modest too." John rolled his eyes.

So this was what finally broke John Watson. After everything he'd been able to take, it was Sherlock's cocaine addiction that finally sent him packing. Sherlock had thought John could withstand anything. Now he was finally slipping away just like Sherlock knew he would. But Sherlock wasn't ready for it. He wasn't prepared.

Sherlock stepped over, closing the space between them. He stood behind John and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in John's neck.

"Please John. Please. You can't leave me. You're mine and I'm yours. Please. You can't leave. I need you. John please. I want you. I love you. Please."

Sherlock hadn't realized he was speaking aloud. He'd been screaming the words in his mind and they'd come out his mouth, pleading. He was in hysterics, hyperventilating and clutching John's shirt so tight, like he would crumble to the floor if he let go.

"You would say it now." John grumbled. He removed Sherlock's hands and stepped away. "Sherlock, I know all of that. I know you need me. Just…apparently not enough."

John took the bag of essentials he'd packed and slung it over his shoulder. He headed for the door. That couldn't be it. It just couldn't be.

"If you loved me you wouldn't be trying to change me." Sherlock said before John's hand was on the door handle.

John turned back enough that Sherlock could see his profile. The corners of John's lips were turned down and he had large bags under his eyes. He looked tired and drained compared to his usual impish self. Sherlock had done that to him. "If you loved me you'd do whatever it took to make me stay."

"Then I guess we don't love each other." It was a challenge. He'd only said it to hear it contradicted. For John to say that of course they loved each other. Sherlock needed to hear it.

"I guess not." John said quietly.

Sherlock shut his eyes tight. He couldn't watch John leave him. He listened to John's footsteps on the stairs but wished he didn't. He wanted to cover his ears. Listening to John leave him was almost as bad as watching him go. Sherlock didn't open his eyes until he heard the front door close. The moment he did, everything seemed a bit dimmer, more muted. The world had gone gray.

XXXXXX

"That was amazing." John said pushing Sherlock's damp hair away from his forehead and kissing it. "I should make you jealous more often."

"I did get a bit carried away." Sherlock said lightly caressing John's back that was covered in scratches a bite marks.

"I didn't mind." John smiled.

 _I love you._  Sherlock thought but he couldn't say it. He desperately wanted to. Why was it so difficult to tell John? John had already said it first so what was Sherlock afraid of? Maybe what it would mean if he finally said it. John knew how important he was to Sherlock, he had to. But Sherlock was still afraid to tell him out loud. John couldn't know just how much power he had over him.

"I guess the thought of you with someone else makes me a little crazed." Sherlock said instead. It wasn't a lie but it wasn't what he wanted to tell John. He was being obvious to refrain from saying what he truly wanted to.

"Sherlock." John said gently, pressing in against him and letting their lips meet just a bit. "There will never be anyone else. I may flirt or look at someone or dance with them because you refuse to. But come on, you have to know that it's only ever going to be you."

"Do you promise?" Sherlock asked. He wanted to believe what John was saying but it sounded too good to be true.

"I do. I promise." John sealed it with a kiss. He took Sherlock's hand and laid it over John's heart. "It's yours."

Sherlock was wrenched from his dream by the sound of his violin dropping to the floor with a clang. He rubbed his eyes like he was trying to push the memories from his mind. It was like his subconscious had pulled this from the hard-drive to comfort him or torture him. He wasn't sure which.

The world was still gray. Sherlock sighed and picked up his violin, placing it into his lap. He pulled out his phone and texted John.

_It was very inconsiderate of you to make me fall in love with you only to take it all way. SH_

He put his phone on the armrest of his chair and picked up his violin. He stared at the phone while he played a few notes that didn't form an actual song. He played chords that were dissonant and strange, expressing the uneasiness he felt. John wasn't replying to his text. He hadn't really expected him to. John had ceased all communication. There was no reason he would break it now.

An incoming text came instead from Maggie, a homeless girl who was a paranoid schizophrenic. Sherlock had paid her twenty quid and given her a burner phone to follow John and report back to him.

_Just finished buying groceries at Tesco. Is heading into flat at St. Charles Sq._

So John was still staying at Sally's. That was somewhat comforting. No word about any dating someone new. Mostly John seemed to go to work and then back to Sally's. Once he had gone out to visit his sister. Sherlock hated Harriet Watson. It was unfair since he'd never met her but he did anyways. If she hadn't been an addict, Sherlock's own vices wouldn't have been an issue.

Sherlock grabbed his phone and texted John again.

_You might as well have ripped my heart out. SH_

He traced the mark on his hand, the circle John's teeth had left. It had scarred even though John had taken great care to fix it. He'd bought Sherlock some expensive cream as an apology, a cream that was supposed to lessen the scar. John didn't seem to realize that Sherlock wanted it to scar. He'd spent so much time trying to mark up John, leave proof that he was Sherlock's. In the end John had done the same to Sherlock but more successfully that Sherlock ever could.

The scar was on the same hand John had taken and held over his heart, promising it to Sherlock. John couldn't have done anything more perfect if he had planned it, which Sherlock knew he hadn't. Sherlock had always known deep down that he was much more John's than John was his. John had been in love before while Sherlock had not. Everything Sherlock experienced with John was new and different. It wasn't that way for John at all. He'd done it all before.

It was why Sherlock needed constant reminding that John belonged to him while John didn't. It was like John just knew. Knew the hold he had over Sherlock, the power. It was why Sherlock never told John he loved him. He needed something to balance the scales. Not that John would have ever taken advantage of it but it was still better to have at least one final card to play.

But he'd already played his final master stroke and John hadn't stayed.

_Do you want my heart? I'm not using it anymore. You can hang it above the fireplace like a hunting trophy. SH_

Why couldn't he make John stay? John had said he was Sherlock's. That he was his. Then why couldn't Sherlock keep him from leaving?

_You said you were mine. If that were true you wouldn't have been able to leave me. Conclusion: You are no longer mine or you lied and you never were. Which is it? SH_

He placed his phone back on the armrest so he could see if John replied. He picked up his violin and pressed his fingers against the strings until it was unbearably painful, creating deep indentations in his fingers. He plucked at the strings harder than was necessary. Two words were rattling around in his brain and wouldn't get out. He tried to play over them to drown them out but they wouldn't go away.

_Not enough._

He pressed down even more.

_Not enough._

He clutched the head of his violin, threatening to snap it in half if it didn't get the words out of his head.

_Not enough._

One of the strings broke, snapping in two. He wanted to do it again. To break all the strings. His violin had never failed him so miserably. Instead he dropped it to the ground without bothering to put it away in its case. He picked up his phone and texed John again.

_You've banished me to a world without sunlight. SH_

Why couldn't John understand? The cocaine made the dull and uninteresting world come into focus. Made it brighter and worth living in. But John was like the sun, making everything warmer. He had essentially asked Sherlock to choose between color and light. And he wanted both. Everyone else got both, why shouldn't he?

His phone buzzed with an incoming text. He held his breath as he raised the phone but it was just another text from Maggie.

_He's in a cab. Not sure where he's going._

Sherlock huffed out a breath and got up out of his chair. He went into the kitchen and looked around. There were still some food in the fridge and cupboards from the last time John had bought the groceries. Sherlock knew he should eat but nothing enticed him in the slightest. It all looked unappetizing, especially now that it all was the same dull gray color. If John were there, he would make Sherlock eat something. John had always taken such good care of him, reminding him to do the things he found pointless. How could John think Sherlock was better off on his own?

But it wasn't really about that. Not at all. John made Sherlock better but Sherlock made John worse. He'd tested and stretched him and broken him. John left because he had to. He was just lucky he'd gotten out before Sherlock had damaged him completely, which he would have done in the end.

Sherlock heard footsteps on the stairs and instantly froze. It was unmistakably John's footsteps. Why was he there? Had he come to get more of his stuff? Did he want the telly? Sherlock might have fought him for it just to get him to stay a bit longer.

"Sherlock." John called out, sounding annoyed. Sherlock didn't move. The moment John stepped into view the entire world burst into color. Sherlock closed his eyes, the sight was too much. Too much too fast.  _John._  His entire brain filled with him. He was there. Hopefully this wasn't his mind playing a trick on him. Not another dream or memory. John.  _Please let him really be here._

"Sherlock." John said again, still trying to keep his voice severe but it was much gentler than before. "Are you ok?"

"No." Sherlock replied honestly. He opened his eyes in time to see John roll his.

"I mean are you dying? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No."

"Good. Then what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sherlock flinched, taken aback by John's harsh tone. "What do you mean?"

"I mean why have you had someone following me? Why have you been sending me these weird text messages that have me fearing for you sanity?"

"I meant them. Every word."

"Sherlock, you offered to let me hang your heart over my fireplace like a deer carcass. You think that's a normal thing to say to a person?" John shook his head.

Sherlock would have gotten offended if he wasn't so elated that John was actually there. That he could reach out and touch him.

"Sherlock, I came to ask you to stop. Stop texting me, stop having weird homeless people that mutter to themselves follow my every move. Just leave me alone, okay?"

"I can't." Sherlock tried to touch John but he moved out of reach. Sherlock frowned in retaliation.

"Sherlock, why are you acting like I broke your heart when we both know it was the other way around."

"You did." Sherlock insisted.

"No, no. I didn't. You're the one who made the decision. It was your choice."

"And my choice was to not choose."

"It doesn't make a difference whether you chose the cocaine or didn't choose at all."

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't because either way you didn't choose me!" John shouted, shaking from anger.

"Is that what you think?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"It's not what I think, it's what happened."

 _Oh God, not the kicked puppy look again._ The look that had started everything.

"So please stop acting like this is my fault. This was all your doing." John said accusingly.

"John." The sound became strangled in Sherlock's throat. He leaned in and kissed him. John's whole body went limp and he refused to kiss him back. Sherlock slammed his hand against the kitchen wall in frustration and pushed against John harder, trying to elicit a reaction. He got nothing in return.

John reached up with both hands and gently pushed Sherlock away. John's eyes were indifferent, his usual overtly expressive face was blank. It wasn't like John to be cold. John wasn't cold. Sherlock was cold. John was warmth and strength and goodness and sunlight. John was everything Sherlock wasn't.

Sherlock looked at John in horror. Sherlock had done irreparable damage. He had thoroughly ruined John Watson. Worse than that, he had made John like him. John couldn't be like him. Sherlock never wanted that. What had he done?

"Just…stop." John said before walking away. The color in the room followed him as if he was draining the room as he left.

XXXXX

Sherlock wanted color back. The world was always dull enough without it's lack of color. Now that everything was a pale grey, he could hardly stand it. If John refused to come back, he'd just have to think of something else.

He went into his bedroom and got down on his knees in front of his dresser. He felt around under the bottom of it until his hands clasped the small bag that was taped there. He clutched it in his hand and held it for a second. Was he really going to do this? It had only been a week since Jim's party. He could usually hold out longer. What had John done to him?

He usually preferred needles to snorting because it was less damaging to his sense of smell, which he needed for cases. But there were some times when he enjoyed the feeling of the drugs rushing straight into his mind, taking over quickly. It was even worth the post-nasal drip that usually came with it.

He set up in the bathroom, not wanting to go into the livingroom. There were too many windows and Mycroft could be spying. The last thing he needed was his brother's prying eyes knowing what he was up to. Bloody Mycroft. He'd stop Sherlock if he could and had tried to on several occasions.

The first line hurt, it had been quite a while since he'd snorted. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to sooth it. He shook his body a little and bent down, sticking the straw into the other nostril and inhaling the next line. He rubbed at his nose and sniffed a few times to make sure he'd gotten it all. Certain things were gaining their color back. The bar of soap Sherlock knew was a honey yellow color was no longer the muted gray like everything else.

He grinned in triumph. It was a start and he had just begun.

XXXXX

Sherlock woke up in a hospital bed, his vision blurry, feeling worse than he'd ever felt in his life. His mind didn't seem to be working right. It was trying to grasp something out of its reach. Something about color. He couldn't remember what though.

There was someone sitting on the edge of his bed but his vision wasn't clear enough to make it out.  _John._  It had to be. He'd come because Sherlock had needed him. No matter how icy a demeanor John put on, he wouldn't stop caring. But then why did everything still have a slightly gray tint? And as he got a good look at the figure, it was much too tall to be John, even sitting down.

Sherlock shut his eyes and opened them again, trying to get them to focus. There was an IV in his arm and his heart physically hurt. So he'd overdosed and given himself a heart attack. His effort to get color back had been less than successful.

The figure on his bed turned and Sherlock groaned. "Piss off Mycroft." He snarled in disgust.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." Mycroft answered dryly, getting up off the bed and standing next to Sherlock, looming over him.

"What happened? Oh God, were you the one who found me?"

"I'd been keeping an extra close watch on you ever since you're break up with John. You tend to get destructive when you're upset."

"I'm not upset." Sherlock snapped back but they both knew it was a lie. Mycroft gave him a knowing look and Sherlock slipped lower into his hospital bed and pouted.

"Sherlock, I agreed not to put you back into a rehabilitation facility because you swore you had it under control."

"I do." Sherlock insisted.

"Clearly." Mycroft replied in skepticism.

"I was just…" Hurt? Angry? Broken hearted? Trying to keep the world from staying gray? Looking for attention? Crying out for help? Sherlock really didn't know how that sentence was supposed to end.

"I thought you were smart enough to have a handle on this."

"I am." Sherlock didn't like what Mycroft was implying.

"Perhaps it would be best if I were to put you back into the care of professionals."

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"Sherlock don't be childish. I'm simply looking out for you. Your safety is my primary concern."

"Yeah right." Sherlock huffed out a breath.

"I didn't bring mummy along, I thought it would only upset her." Mycroft changed the subject stiffly.

"What did you tell her?" Sherlock asked, worried.

"I told her you were sick and in the hospital. I said it was from malnutrition, which she believed since we all know how little you eat."

"Well you indulge enough for the both of us." Sherlock shot back and Mycroft made a face. "Nothing else?"

"Nothing else."

"Why? So you can blackmail into doing what you want or else you'll tell her the truth?" Sherlock eyed his brother suspiciously. Mycroft never did nice things just to be nice. No, he must have had an ulterior motive, if not several.

"Not at all. I didn't see the point in breaking her heart by telling her that her son had tried to take his own life."

"I wasn't." Please. If he were suicidal he would not have failed at it, and he definitely would not achieve it by overdosing. Too much of a chance that he could be revived. No if he wanted to kill himself, there were more efficient ways to go about it. And he never would. Not without saying goodbye to John, at least.

"Sherlock. You snorted two lines of nearly pure cocaine and then mixed it with god knows what and injected it into your veins. If you weren't trying to kill yourself then what, pray tell, were you trying to achieve?"

He couldn't tell Mycroft about the colors. Not without sounding stupid and he really wasn't up for the ridicule. Instead he kept his mouth shut and let Mycroft believe what he liked. Sherlock just narrowed his eyes and stayed still in his stony silence, hoping his brother would go away. He couldn't think of anyone he wanted there less and yet that was who he was stuck with.

"I feel compelled to tell you that your flat has been thoroughly searched for any other contraband and I might feel inclined to do so again in the future, as I please."

Sherlock had expected it. Mycroft wouldn't allow Sherlock to keep drugs on hand in case he tried to pull something like this again. No, Mycroft would make it as difficult as possible. Although Sherlock knew his flat better than anyone and knew places to hide things where Mycroft and his goons would never find them, if he felt properly motivated. Right then he did not have the energy for it.

"Also, if you make any effort to contact John Watson again, steps will be taken." Mycroft added in that condescending manner of his.

"What? You can't keep him from me. This isn't a Shakespearean play."

"I would have thought it was more of a Greek Tragedy."

"You're hilarious Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll see John if I damn well please and there's nothing you can do about it."

"We both know that's not the case, so let's not bicker about it." Mycroft threat hung in the air.

Sherlock clenched his fists to keep from the overwhelming urge to hurl things at his brother. "You can threaten me all you like Mycroft, John's is nonnegotiable."

"My goodness Sherlock, it's not like you to get so worked up. Do you honestly believe you love him? That this isn't just some childish infatuation?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock was trying his best to stay calm, to not let Mycroft get to him. But John was a sore subject and Mycroft talking down to Sherlock like he was a child was infuriating. "You watch in the shadows like a ghost, meddling in my life and think you know what's going on, how I feel. You don't and you never will."

"Well this meddlesome ghost saved your life. You might want to remember that in the future."

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest to sulk as best he could with the IV in his arm, constricting his movements. He hated the idea that he was indebted to Mycroft, that he owed him his life. It made him sick. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Anybody would have been preferable.

"You can't make John disappear. I won't let you."

"You can try." Mycroft responded ominously.

Soon after that Mycroft left Sherlock alone in his room. At least Mycroft had gotten him a private room so he wasn't forced to share. There was something nagging in the back of his head. Something he'd forgotten. It felt like he'd said something he hadn't meant to but he couldn't think of what. He didn't regret anything he'd said to Mycroft so it wasn't that.

He reached over and grabbed his phone from the bedside table. He went to messages and then to the sentbox. There were two messages to John that he didn't remember sending. He must have been too far gone at that point.

_You're killing me. SH_

Sherlock rubbed his eyes in embarrassment. It was unfair of him to put that on John. He could only imagine how John would feel if Sherlock had actually died. He would have felt guilty and blamed himself. Sherlock was glad that John knew nothing about it. The second message was much more mundane and sending it had been the last thing he'd done before his body had given up.

_I miss you. I don't function properly without you. I love you. SH_


	5. Longing

> Hours slide and days go by  
> Till you decide to come  
> And in between it always seems too long  
> All of a sudden
> 
> And I have the skill, yeah I have the will  
> To breathe you in while I can  
> However long you stay  
> Is all that I am
> 
> I don't mind...  
> I don't care...  
> As long as you're here
> 
> Go ahead tell me you'll leave again  
> You'll just come back running  
> Holding your scarred heart in hand  
> It's all the same  
> And I'll take you for who you are  
> If you take me for everything  
> Do it all over again  
> It's always the same
> 
> -All the Same, Sick puppies

John liked the rain. He didn't know how someone could live in London and not like the rain. He assumed it was as nonsensical as living in Alaska but hating the snow. That day it was pouring, coming down in buckets. John was thankful he'd remembered an umbrella; it was Sally's since most of his things were still at Baker Street, but he'd remembered one all the same.

He was on his way to have lunch with Mike Stamford when he saw a girl desperately trying to get a cab. She was waving her arms frantically, her hair and clothes already soaked through. John quickly crossed the street and stood next to her, sharing his umbrella. She gave him a grateful smile but looked a little wary.

"I'm John." He introduced himself.

"Annabell." She replied, her smile widening.

"Pleasure." John grinned back and Annabell moved a bit closer.

"Your timing is rather impeccable."

"Really? I think it would have been a bit fortuitous of me to arrive earlier. I mean you're soaked." John tried his best not to stare at the fabric clinging to her.

"Oh I don't mind." Annabell reached up and squeezed her long ginger hair, wringing out the water. "I love the rain except it makes it impossible to get a cab."

"Well my umbrella is yours as long as you need it, as is my company, if you feel you need or want that as well."

"Yes to the umbrella, no to the company."

"And you'd take my umbrella and leave me out in the rain by myself? Are you always this rude?' John joked good-naturedly.

"Almost always." She responded, making John laugh. "Alright, I guess you can stay."

"Awfully kind of you."

"Don't mention it."

XXXXX

John hadn't expected to date anyone new for a very, very long time. He was still hung up on Sherlock and probably would be for a while. Still, spending time with Annabell was nice. Sometimes it felt like they were hanging out as friends, other times it felt like they were on dates, so John didn't know what they were. He just knew it was uncomplicated, which was quite frankly a relief.

They never kissed. Sometimes there was some innocent touching but John wasn't ready to let anyone kiss him. He knew he could get there at some point, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. Mostly because in his mind he still considered himself to be Sherlock's, even after their last encounter.

John had been cold and indifferent because he thought he had to be. He'd been trying to make a point that Sherlock obviously hadn't wanted to listen to. They were both being bloody stubborn but John thought he was the only one with a reason to be. What was it that made Sherlock need the drugs so badly? Could it be anything as simply as Sherlock being addicted or was there something else John wasn't seeing?

And sometimes John regretted leaving. He worried about what Sherlock might do on his own. But then he reminded himself that Sherlock had done just fine without John for most of his life. A three month period in a twenty year span wasn't much at all. But some of those text messages he'd sent were truly disturbing. John knew Sherlock had a flair for being melodramatic but this seemed to go above and beyond that.

John had deleted all the text messages. He didn't need to read about ripping out Sherlock's heart or have Sherlock accuse him of being a liar. Or that John was killing him, whatever that meant. In the end he'd kept just one, the last one. The one where Sherlock said he loved him. John looked at that one more than was necessary. His thumb would trace over the words and try to imagine how Sherlock looked when he wrote them. But since the only time Sherlock had ever said it was when his face was nuzzling John's neck, John really didn't have a point of reference.

He'd had to turn his phone off and give it to Sally to keep it away from him. If he hadn't, he would have texted Sherlock back. He probably could have written an entire book. He was angry and upset and it was perfectly unfair of Sherlock to tell him those things when Sherlock wouldn't even  _try_ to kick his addiction. Or maybe he would have written back something simple like I miss you and I love you too.

XXXXXX

John was seeing someone. According the Maggie, he'd been spending an inordinate amount of time with some women named Annabell over the past month. She was ginger, shorter than John, regular middle class family, studying English Literature. Perfectly dull. Sherlock wondered if John was trying to kill him, if it had become his mission to make Sherlock feel as terrible as humanly possible. It was the only explanation. Okay, maybe not the only explanation but Sherlock couldn't entertain the idea that John might actually like this girl. He just couldn't.

He paced the living room of his flat and tried to think. All of his drugs were gone of course. Mycroft had seen to that. He could call Jim but he wasn't stupid enough to shoot up again. Besides he'd been doing so well. At least until John had to start dating and ruin everything. Also, the last thing he needed was Mycroft making good on his threat to lock Sherlock away in some dreadful place.

Would John fall in love with her? John had been in love before. It was possible he would do it again. Was he already having sex with her? Had he had sex with others? Would he kiss her the way he had kissed Sherlock? Would he bite her skin and moan in the same way? Would he say her name as he came? Would he use profanity the way he did with Sherlock or would he try to be well-mannered?

Sherlock tugged his fingers through his hair and tried to banish such thoughts from his mind. John was allowed to see other people, wasn't he? It seemed rather soon to be off with someone else. More and more the evidence was pointing to the fact that John was not in fact Sherlock's, like he had promised he was. He found himself feeling betrayed and angry with John. Anger was good, anger helped.

He had to see him. He had to hear it from John himself. Only when John had looked him in the eye and told him he'd moved on and they were over could Sherlock start to process this. At that moment it was all just visions and feelings swirling around in his head, torturing him. Feelings. They'd never been there before. More of John Watson's handiwork. Now it seemed like Sherlock had nothing but feelings. He'd been reduced to an emotional mess. Was this how normal people felt all the time?

Sherlock would have given anything for a case. To focus his mind on other things. To get back to reasoning and deductions and push out all the useless emotions that insisted on taking up residence in his brain like squatters. They were not welcome nor would they ever be. Even if he did manage to get John back—no, that was dangerous thinking. Hope. Hope was the worst of them all. Well, except love.

He'd see John, had to see him, Mycroft be damned. Sherlock had no intention of following Mycroft's orders. John would never agree to be cut out of Sherlock's life. Or maybe he would. Things were less clear now. Maybe John would be glad to have a reason to never see Sherlock again. He couldn't worry about things like that. Hypotheticals were no use to him. Instead he went upstairs to change.

XXXXX

Maggie had tracked John from dinner to the club. It was there that Sherlock relieved her of her duties and told her the rest of the evening was hers. Sherlock wasn't really sure what homeless schizophrenics did with their time and wasn't really keen to find out. More pressing matters were occupying his time.

There wasn't much of a line into the club, which was a relief because he didn't look like himself and didn't have time to explain things to the bouncer. The moment he went in, his eyes began scanning the room for John and his date. Even thinking the word date made Sherlock's stomach churn in disgust. It was still early yet, not too much of a crowd. It would make the task of finding John much easier.

Sherlock shifted his weight, not used to heels having to support his thin frame. It had been quite a while since he'd used this particular disguise and now he was remembering why. He didn't mind the dress or the wig but the heels made everything dreadfully uncomfortable. He bit his lip and began moving, still desperately searching for John. His eyes finally landed on him, sitting at the bar next to a pretty red-headed girl. John was grinning at her, leaning in slightly. Sherlock sucked in a breath and shut his eyes for a moment.  _Too much_.

He knew seeing John out with someone else would be painful, it had to be. He never imagined it would affect him so deeply. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. He desperately wanted to cling to something for fear he might fall over. It might have happened even if his footing wasn't shaky on high heels.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, in through his nose and out his mouth. He listed off prime numbers in his head, needing to focus on something else. When he had calmed down, he made his way over to the bar and sat three chairs down from John, facing the bar but with John in his peripherals. The girl had her back to him, which Sherlock didn't mind. He'd seen all of her he cared to.

John and the girl were laughing about something and Sherlock felt his hands curl into fists, anger filling his chest and threatening to take over. The girl put her hand on John's leg, closer to his crotch than his knee. Sherlock's fingernails dug into his palm. He was doing his best to keep his face calm, not wanting to draw attention to himself. But then John smiled at the girl and Sherlock pressed his lips in between his teeth and bit down to keep from crying out in agony.

_11, 13, 17,19, 23, 29, 31, 37…_

The girl had moved her chair closer.

_41, 43, 47,53, 59, 61…._

John licked his lips.

_67, 71, 73, 79, 83, 89, 97, 101…_

John leaned in closer. The girl did too.

_103, 107, 109_

Their lips pressed together and Sherlock's stomach bottomed out.

_NO!_

Sherlock was out of his seat in seconds. He couldn't think, he couldn't breath. It felt like he had no control over his body whatsoever. He had grabbed John by the collar and pulled him roughly from his chair. He was half pulling, half dragging John to the toilets. Sherlock wasn't sure what he was planning to do. He could have murdered John in that moment.

"What the- what are you doing? What the hell…?" John seemed unable to complete a sentence as Sherlock shoved him into the bathroom and locked the door behind them.

"You broke the rules." Sherlock spat, shoving John against the wall.

"What the fuck are you on about?" John asked still not getting it. He was looking directly at Sherlock and didn't recognize him. At least one part of the night had been successful. John stared at him for a moment, searching his face. Slowly his eyes widened in recognition. "Sherlock? What. The. Actual. Fuck?" John took his time with each word.

"It's a disguise John." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Honestly, John could be so slow on the uptake sometimes.

John shook his head, still looking dumbfounded. "Are you on a case?"

"No."

"So you're dressed like a woman for…fun?"

"Don't be stupid John." Sherlock snapped. Why was this so difficult for him to grasp?

"You're standing there in pantyhose and  _I'm_  the one who's stupid?" John snorted.

"It was necessary."

"Wait, wait, wait. Were you following me? You put on a bloody dress so I wouldn't notice you following me?"

So he finally caught on. "Yes."

"You're mental. You're completely mental." John said staring at him in disbelief.

"And you broke the rules." Sherlock said again, more accusingly this time, hoping John might address it.

"The…rules?" John took a moment to catch up. "This wasn't part of our bloody game Sherlock! This was real."

"Are you in love with her?"

"Of course not. We're friends."

"A friend who you kiss." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I wasn't planning on it or anything. I just liked having someone to talk to. Sally and I have been driving each other up the wall with the amount of time we're spending together. Annabell's nice and friendly and uncomplicated, which is what I need right now."

"So, not…me." Sherlock translated John's babbling.

"No. Yes. Maybe." John rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He looked drained and worn out. How could Sherlock not have noticed before? John hadn't been sleeping well, that much was obvious. Was Sally's flat uncomfortable? Or was his distress caused by Sherlock? He wanted to ask, have John give him an explanation.

Sherlock grabbed John's wrists and held them against the wall. He pressed his body against John's from thighs to chest before catching John's lips with his own. Kissing John while wearing lipstick was a new and interesting feeling. His waxy lips slipped against John's in a sort of pleasant way.

"Sherlock." John turned his head to break the kiss. "Stop."

Sherlock kissed down John's neck. His grip on John was loose enough that John could get free if he really wanted and they both knew it. Still, Sherlock wasn't going to force himself on John. The kisses were soft and gentle, just barely touching John's skin.

"No." John said as Sherlock moved up to try and kiss him again. Sherlock pulled away, dropping John's wrists.

"John I—"

"Not here. I can't concentrate with you looking like that, in a fucking dress."

Sherlock grinned and laced his fingers through John's. John looked utterly ridiculous, his mouth smeared with lipstick. John noticed Sherlock staring and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Together they left the club, running towards Baker Street. Sherlock knew the fastest way and pulled John through deserted alleyways. Occasionally one would tug at the other, pulling them in for a kiss. They were laughing and running and completely out of breath. Sherlock had never felt better in his life.

John pressed up against Sherlock when they were in a particularly dark alley and slipped his hand under the dress. He rubbed Sherlock through the fabric of his hose and underwear while brushing the long wig off his shoulder to kiss his neck.

"John, we're almost there." Sherlock breathed.

"I know." John groaned. "You make a surprisingly attractive girl."

"I did get a few admiring glances." Sherlock disclosed and John began to giggle.

"You're still better looking as a man though." John informed him huskily, nipping at Sherlock's ear.

"Come on." Sherlock said lugging him away and they took off running again.

They crashed into 221B, pressed up against each other and panting. Sherlock kicked off his heels and pulled John into the bedroom. The tumbled into Sherlock's bed, wrapped in each other's embrace. John reached up and grabbed Sherlock's long dark wig, throwing it across the room. He then reached up and grabbed Sherlock's real hair, tangling his fingers into it. Sherlock was just about to start unbuttoning John shirt when he pulled away.

"Wait." John said untangling himself from Sherlock and getting off the bed. Sherlock waited anxiously while John went into the bathroom. He returned with a damp cloth and sat down next to Sherlock on the bed. "You're a complete nutter." John said affectionately.

Sherlock closed his eyes as John pressed the cloth over his lids, removing the make-up. "I thought you might prefer me this way." Sherlock confessed.

"Why on Earth would I…" John had stopped moving. He dropped the cloth from Sherlock's face and stared at him. Sherlock swallowed and opened his eyes, hesitant to meet John's gaze. "For Christ's sake Sherlock. Why is my sexuality such an issue for you? It isn't for me."

"You were out on a date with a woman, it wasn't an illogical conclusion." Sherlock said defensively.

"I was with Annabell because we had a moment, just like you and I had a moment. I don't sit there and analyze who I fancy, it just happens."

They were both silent for a moment as John finished wiping off Sherlock's make up. John calmly went back into the bathroom to hang the towel back up before sitting back down on the bed. Sherlock didn't know what to say. What could he say?

John reached up and cupped Sherlock's face with his hands. "This is what I want. You're what I want. How can you not know that?"

"You left me." Sherlock said quietly. "I couldn't... I couldn't make you stay. You didn't want to stay with me."

"I did." John sighed, resting his forehead against Sherlock's. "I just… God you make me crazy."

Sherlock's lips twitched up into a smile. "The feeling's mutual."

Their lips pressed lightly together before John broke away again. "Now, let's get you out of that fucking dress."

John got to his feet and pulled Sherlock up with him. He made Sherlock turn around and began kissing his neck while he slowly unzipped the dress. "God I've missed you." John mumbled against Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock turned to face him and John's face went a bit red. "Don't read too much into it. I-I don't mean anything else by it. I'm still angry and hurt and upset. But I've missed you."

"So have I." Sherlock replied, wrapping his arms around John and holding him close. "You have no idea how much."

For a moment they stood there, holding each other. Sherlock buried his face in John's neck and breathed deeply, inhaling John's scent. There were still traces of it around the flat but most of it was fading. John had one hand on Sherlock's hair, stroking it gently while the other was on his bare back. When John lifted his face for a kiss, Sherlock noticed just the smallest glint of a tear in John's eyes. Sherlock kissed John back, parting his lips to let John in deeper, while his hand moved up and wiped away John's tear. It was all the acknowledgement they gave it before their kiss turned hungry and insistent.

John reached up and slipped the unzipped dress off Sherlock's shoulders. It fell to the floor in one swift movement. John pushed Sherlock onto the bed, kissing his naked torso. He took one of Sherlock's nipples into his mouth and started to suck, his teeth grazing it just a bit, causing Sherlock to moan loudly.

John's hands rested on Sherlock's waist and slowly he started to roll down the pantyhose, gently biting down Sherlock's chest as he did so. Once they were down to his thighs, John licked Sherlock's erection through his underwear. They were already slightly damp with precome.

John got up onto his knees and began unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped it off his shoulders and chucked it across the room. Sliding off the bed, John grabbed Sherlock's legs and sucked his inner thigh while he rolled the hose the rest of the way down. He yanked at them until they were off completely and he dropped them to the floor.

"I want to fuck you." John said as he kissed down Sherlock's leg. "Will you let me?"

"Y-yes John. Anything you want." Sherlock replied shakily. "Yes. Please John. Yes. I- oh God." Sherlock's thoughts were derailed as licked his instep before taking Sherlock's pinky toe into his mouth and sucking it.

Sherlock grew harder, shoving his head back against the pillow. "That shouldn't feel as good as it does." Sherlock groaned. Toe sucking was new. John Watson had a bit of a foot fetish, interesting. It was usually an activity associated with women. Did that mean John had recently had sex with a woman, reminding him of it? Sherlock couldn't stand to think about it. Not when he finally had John home and with him.

John dropped Sherlock's leg back onto the bed and went and got the lube from its usual place in the bedside table. He placed it in his mouth and used both hands to tug down Sherlock's underwear. Sherlock lifted his hips to help with the process.

John took the tube from his mouth and coated his fingers. Sherlock was surprised when John bent down and took Sherlock's cock into his mouth, lapping at it with his tongue. He kept his tongue flat, working the sensitive underside.

"Oh my God, John." Sherlock gasped, his breath becoming staggered.

Then his coated fingers wedged under Sherlock's body and he slipped just his thumb into Sherlock's hole, teasing it. He moved it in little circles and then in and out. He pulled his thumb out and replaced it with his middle and index fingers, scissoring them inside.

"John." Sherlock cried out, grinding his hips down, coaxing John's fingers to go in further and find his prostate. John's mouth was still working Sherlock's prick, slowly and steadily, making a humming noise around it.

"Oh God John, please." Sherlock begged. He wasn't entirely sure for what.

John pulled away, dislodging his mouth from Sherlock's cock with a pop. His fingers slid out of Sherlock's arse, causing him to whimper. John laughed and crawled up Sherlock's body so he could gently bite Sherlock's protruding lower lip.

"How do you manage to look bloody gorgeous even when you're pouting?" John asked, giving him another quick kiss before moving into a kneeling position, straddling Sherlock's legs. Sherlock reached up and undid John's trousers, pushing them down to his knees. He grabbed John cock and stroked it a few times before hooking his arm around his neck and pulled him close so their bodies pressed together. John kicked off his pants, their erections rubbing together as they did so.

John reached down and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, stroking them a few times before focusing on just his own, coating it in gel. He gripped the base and slowly inserted himself inside Sherlock's arse. He moved slowly and deliberately, rutting against him in controlled thrusts.

"Harder." Sherlock pleaded, leaning back until half his body was hanging off the side of the bed.

John gripped Sherlock's hips and thrust into him, jerking his hips with a quick snap at the end.

"That feels-Oh god John yes—just like that."

Sherlock arched his back, resting all of his weight on John. As John moved up and inside Sherlock, their bodies ground against each other. Sherlock was worried he might fall off the bed if John let go. He scrambled for purchase but found none. He tried to place his hands on the wall behind him but his palms were sweaty, causing them to slip off. Every time he thought he might fall, John was there, pulling him back. He was pounding into him with such intensity, making everything hurt in the best way possible.

"You're extraordinary." Sherlock breathed, gasping for air, the blood rushing to his head. The world seemed to be brighter than it ever had before, so vivid. Had his bedroom ceiling always been that startling a white? The colors burned so brightly that Sherlock had to shut his eyes.

"Are you alright?" John asked, concerned. "Do you need me to stop?"

"No!" Sherlock shouted immediately. "Don't stop, never stop. Oh God John. You're incredible."

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's middle, creating more friction between them. He pulled himself up until he was sitting in John's lap, riding him roughly, his fingers digging into John's shoulders. John fisted a hand into Sherlock's hair, the other gripping his hip tightly. "Oh fuck." John cursed, as a powerful orgasm surged through his body.

The moment his orgasm subsided, John pulled out and immediately pushed Sherlock back down onto the bed. He lowered himself in between Sherlock's legs and took Sherlock's mostly neglected cock back into his mouth to finish. It only took a few long and hard pulls up Sherlock's length until he tipped over the edge.

"Oh. Oh!" Sherlock gasped, his eyes widening as he came.

XXXX

"You know." John said brushing his fingertips lightly against Sherlock's arm from elbow to wrist in a repeated fashion. "This didn't really fix anything."

"I know." Sherlock replied, pulling John in tighter for fear he might try to leave.

"It's very aggravating." John huffed out a breath.

"Extremely." Sherlock agreed, pressing his lips to John's temple.

John sighed loudly and turned over onto his side, facing away from Sherlock. Sherlock wanted to move and form his body around John's, but John's body language had been very clear. Sherlock was about to pull his arm from under John and move over to give him room when John reached back and grabbed Sherlock's other arm, wrapping it over himself. Sherlock turned his body and snuggled in next to John.

"John?" Sherlock whispered softly.

"Yeah?"

"Have you slept with anyone else while we were apart?"

"No. I hadn't even kissed anyone else before this evening."

Sherlock felt somewhat relieved by that even though he had no right to be. John was allowed to sleep with whomever he pleased. Sherlock really had no hold over him anymore. At least not in a way where he was allowed to be jealous if John did. Their separation had been Sherlock's doing and he couldn't have faulted John if he'd chosen to sleep with someone else, even if it would have been painful to know he had.

"John, you promised there would never be anybody else." Sherlock meant it at as gentle reminder but it came out like an accusation. "You promised."

"I know." John sighed sadly.

Sherlock buried his face in John's neck and for a long while they were silent. Sherlock watched the gentle rising and falling of John's chest as he breathed. It was calming and beautiful, to have someone warm and alive in his arms. It didn't matter that John had kissed someone else, not really. John was there with him, resting in his bed, in his arms; not off with that girl. But was it just for the night or was John his again? 

"John, do you still love me?" Sherlock asked.

There was no answer and he couldn't tell if John was asleep or just didn't want to respond. Either way, Sherlock was too scared to check and see which it was. But the silence was deafening, his question still hanging in the air.

XXXXX

Sherlock awoke to an empty bed. He felt around with his eyes closed where John had been sleeping and his half of the bed was cold. John had been gone for some time. He had no idea how though. Sherlock was a notoriously light sleeper. Surely he would have felt John leave the bed? He didn't dare open his eyes for fear he would learn he had dreamed or hallucinated the night before.

But then his hand brushed the pillow and he felt something. There was a crinkling noise as his hand rested on a piece of paper. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed it, bolting upright. His hands were shaking as he raised it to eye level so he could see what was written. His mind was put somewhat at ease when he realized it was John's handwriting.

_Always have, always will. ~ John_

Sherlock clutched the paper, holding it to his chest. The corners of his mouth had downturned and were quivering. So John had heard Sherlock's final question the night before. Sherlock brought his knees to his chest and hugged them, wishing John was there.

XXXXX

John had woken up and needed air. He needed more air than was humanly possible. He gently slipped out of Sherlock's embrace and scribbled him a quick note. He'd still been awake to hear Sherlock's question the night before. He hadn't known how to respond but now the right answer was perfectly clear. He left it on his pillow and risked gently brushing Sherlock's dark hair back to get a good look at his face. He knew Sherlock was a light sleeper and at any moment he might wake up and witness John making his escape. But seeing Sherlock asleep in the early morning light was one of John's favorite things. Probably because it happened so infrequently what with Sherlock being an insomniac. It usually meant he was awake before John or in some cases hadn't gone to sleep at all.

John quickly grabbed his things from where they were scattered around the room and left the bedroom as quietly as possible. He shut the door behind him and got dressed in the livingroom. He felt bad skipping out like that. It made it seem like he regretted last night, that he was ashamed or something. He wasn't and he hoped his note would put Sherlock's mind at rest. He just needed a walk to sort things out and clear his head.

The walk of shame was not an experience John had had very often. It was certainly not something he thought he'd experience coming out of 221B Baker Street. Still, there were more pressing things on his mind to be buggered. Especially when he noticed a black town car sitting idly just a block away. John stared for a moment and then his heart began to race as the car moved, parking again right in front of where he was standing.

The back door opened and John peered in. There was a girl typing away at her phone and didn't even glance up at John. He moved his attention to the seat opposite her, where a familiar face was sitting looking displeased.

"Get in the car John." Mycroft Holmes ordered, his voice calm but insistent. John slipped inside, sitting next to the girl and as the door closed behind him, he couldn't help the feeling of dread that filled him. They pulled away from the curb and as 221B disappeared from view, John couldn't help feeling that getting in the car had been a colossal mistake.


	6. Constant

> Everything I can't be
> 
> Is everything you should be  
> And that's why I need you here  
> So hear this now
> 
> Come home  
> Come home  
> Cause I've been waiting for you  
> For so long  
> For so long  
> And right now there's a war between the vanities  
> But all I see is you and me  
> The fight for you is all I've ever known  
> Ever known  
> So come home  
> Come home
> 
> -Come Home, One Republic

"So where are we going?" John asked, shifting nervously against the plush leather seats.

"All in good time." Mycroft replied enigmatically.

John didn't like the way Sherlock's brother was staring at him, his eyes inquisitively looking him over, so John focused his gaze out the window. He felt strangely like he was being abducted. He studied the streets so he could tell Sherlock where they were in case things turned sour. Then he realized he was being ridiculous. Mycroft wasn't going to kill him, right? Still, the black town car with tinted windows offered no comfort.

John knew very little about Mycroft Holmes. He'd only met him briefly at Sherlock's birthday. John had thought they'd got on rather well considering. But if Mycroft's current icy gaze was anything to go on, this was no longer the case. The lack of explanation was rather disconcerting. John swallowed and tried to remain calm.

They pulled up to a building that John recognized as Mycroft's flat. It looked different now. Taller. More foreboding. John knew it was just his imagination. The circumstances were just vastly different. No reason to think anything else of it. But as he climbed from the car, his steps were hesitant to follow as Mycroft led the way.

'Come along John." Mycroft called over his shoulder, his tone impatient.

John picked up the pace and rushed after him, catching the front door just before it swung shut. Mycroft was already in the lift, tapping his umbrella against the floor in irritation. John was quick to join him, the doors shutting behind him.

Being alone with Mycroft in a small box was a strange and rather alarming feeling. Mycroft didn't so much as glance in John's direction, which somehow made things worse. John would have given anything for a friendly smile or a look of reassurance.

He found none.

Just cold, blank indifference.

John chewed on his bottom lip and reached for his phone. He wondered if Mycroft would take it from him. Instead Mycroft's eyes flickered to the phone and then away, as if it didn't concern him in the slightest. John didn't want to text Sherlock. If he knew John had been somewhat kidnapped by his brother, Sherlock would probably worry. John didn't want to cause him unnecessary grief.

Instead John texted Sally. When he'd finished he slipped his phone back into his pocket and glanced at Mycroft. "Most amusing." Mycroft said dismissively.

John stepped off the lift after Mycroft and reluctantly followed him to his study. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, trying not to show how nervous he was. He had no idea what Mycroft could want with him but he knew it had everything to do with Sherlock. It seemed a little late for the threat of a reprisal if hearts were broken so what could it possibly be about?

"John." Mycroft motioned to the chair opposite. John took his time before sitting down. Mycroft leaned against the desk, looming over him. "It's my understanding that you have ambitions to become a doctor."

"Yes." John nodded. It seemed an odd place to start. He had no idea what his career aspirations had to do anything.

"And that you had to withdraw from medical school when you no longer had the means to pay."

"That's correct."

"What if I was willing to pay your way through medical school?" Mycroft offered and John blinked a few times, stunned into silence. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Why would you do that?"

"I am a man of some means. Paying for your schooling would be no trouble at all." Mycroft said nonchalantly.

"But why?"

"In exchange for my generosity, you would sever any and all ties you have to my brother."

"What is this?" John asked getting to his feet in anger. "This isn't a Jane Austen novel, you can't pay me to stay away from Sherlock."

"I have before." Mycroft sneered.

"What kind of brother are you?" John spat in disgust.

"The kind that worries. You know John, when I first met you I thought you would either be the making of my brother or his undoing. He seemed much more relaxed in your presence. You made him almost tolerable. He held his tongue and was gracious to his family. Even a fool could have seen the affect you had on him and in such a short time too."

"Then why are you trying to send me away?" John asked, baffled.

"I'm afraid my brother has taken a turn for the worst and has fallen back into old habits." Mycroft explained calmly.

"The cocaine." John said quietly. Did Mycroft believe Sherlock's addiction was somehow John's fault? Obviously or they wouldn't be there.

"Indeed. His addiction was always there but it hasn't been this bad in years. I think we both know why." Mycroft's eyes flashed and John looked away out of guilt.

"Then why don't you get him help?" John inquired. There had to be less extreme measures than paying John off.

"A few years ago Sherlock's drug abuse was out of control. I put him into a rehab facility against his will."

"What happened?" John asked. Sherlock had never told him any of this. Then again his addiction was one of the things Sherlock seemed to stay fairly tight lipped about.

"Sherlock escaped within twenty-four hours."

John couldn't help smiling. That did sound like Sherlock.

"So I had him put into a more secure facility with constant video and heavily guarded."

"And…?" John asked knowing there had to be more to the story than that.

"It took him a week."

John stifled a laugh. It shouldn't have been funny. Sherlock was escaping from people that could have helped him. But undermining his brother and busting out of rehab was so deliciously Sherlock. Of course he would see the cameras and guards as a challenge.

"Of course if he had put half the effort into getting clean that he put into escaping, this would not longer be an issue." Mycroft pointed out equally annoyed with the memory of his brother's antics and John's current reaction to them.

"So you gave up?"

"Certainly not." Mycroft sniffed in offense. "I realized that my brother was a clever man, too clever for his own good, but that one that would listen to reason. His behavior was destructive to say the least and he couldn't continue on the way he was. Finally I gave him a choice. He could either be smart about his habit or I would lock him in a padded cell with no door. His chose the former and has been relatively good about it unless he's in some kind of emotional turmoil."

"And you think I cause him emotional turmoil?" John asked crossing his arms over his chest in defiance.

"I'm sure of it." Mycroft said confidently. He pushed off the desk and walked around it to sit in his chair.

"Well, then you really don't know what you're talking about." John grinned knowingly.

"You put my brother under such distress that he overdosed and you sit there grinning." Mycroft's eyes narrowed in disgust.

"W-What?" John felt his knees give and he sunk down into his chair.

"You weren't aware?" Mycroft's tone lightened but he still seemed suspicious.

Of course John didn't know. Because Sherlock hadn't bothered to tell him. He raised his hand to his mouth, feeling like he might throw up. He shook his head in disbelief. How could Sherlock have kept that from him? How could he have been so reckless? More than anything John felt guilty. He'd left Sherlock alone and heart broken with nothing to turn to but the drugs.

"No." John said finally, clutching his chair until his knuckles whitened. He swallowed around his heart, which had seemed to relocate to his throat. "I didn't know."

"I did not come to this decision lightly John. But it seems that you are more of a detriment to my brother's health and well-being than you are an asset."

"So you're giving me an incentive to never contact Sherlock again."

"Exactly. You don't want to waste your life away as a barista when you could be learning medical practices, do you?"

"And you're going to pay because you think I'm damaging your brother?" John concluded.

"I warned Sherlock to stay away from you. He knew this would happen if he did not and yet he went to you anyway. To his credit he stayed away for an entire month, most unlike him. I think he could have held out longer if you hadn't taken up with that girl."

"How did you-" John started but thought better of it. 'Nevermind."

"So I take we're in agreement?" Mycroft reached into the top desk drawer and pulled out his checkbook.

"No." John shook his head, newfound determination filling him. He was not going to be bought off. "You don't have a fucking clue."

"I beg your pardon?"

John leaned forward in his chair, no longer intimidated. "Sherlock and I were good together. We are good together. I shouldn't have left him and what happened because of my actions is something I'll always carry with me, that's on my conscience now. We both made mistakes and I take responsibility for mine. But now I know how much Sherlock truly needs me and I'm not going to let you cut me out of his life."

"A very touching speech John."

"So is that everything?" John asked rising from his chair.

"I suppose it is. " Mycroft replied, putting his checkbook away.

XXXXX

"Sally." Sherlock hollered as he burst through the coffee shop doors. There were only a few customers and they all gave Sherlock funny looks but he was too busy to notice. He walked right up to the counter and leaned over it, needing to talk to Sally. He'd already been over to her flat looking for John. He'd also gone to the park, John's favorite pub and his sister's, all with no luck.

"John's not here." Sally said curtly.

"Where is he?" Sherlock inquired desperately.

"I don't know, I haven't seen him since he left for his date last night. Maybe he's still over at her place."

"Impossible." Sherlock waved it off.

"How do you know?"

"Because he spent the night with me." Sherlock answered. Why did Sally insist on wasting his time with things he already knew? What he didn't know was John's whereabouts and it was the only thing he was keen to find out.

"Well then he's even dumber than I thought." Sally rolled her eyes and tried to look busy. Sherlock wasn't going to leave until he knew exactly where John was. He needed to speak with him. "Look, if you're not a paying customer I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Fine." Sherlock growled in reply. He shoved a few rumpled bills onto the counter. "Hot Chocolate."

Sally huffed out a breath and grabbed the few bills, stuffing them into the cash register. She turned her back to him and made his drink. She was taking a painful long time just to annoy him. Sherlock really couldn't understand why John was friends with her.

"Sally, please. I need to find him." Sherlock begged desperately.

There must have been something about Sherlock's disheveled appearance or the way he'd pleaded but Sally sighed loudly and pulled out her phone. "John texted me earlier and said if you stopped by to inform you that he had gone to have a chat with Scar and that Mufasa shouldn't worry."

"I…don't know what that means." Sherlock groaned in exasperation. Why would John send him some nonsense? And why had he texted Sally instead of Sherlock himself?

"It's a Lion King reference."

Sherlock stared at her blankly.

"The Disney movie?"

This was a whole new level of aggravating. What on Earth was John trying to tell him?

"It's a cartoon about lions. Mufasa is the king and Scar is his evil brother."

"So…?"

"So, I'm guessing you're supposed to be Mufasa. Do you have an evil brother of some kind?"

"Yes." Sherlock said slowly, everything falling neatly into place. "Yes I do."

He forgot himself for a moment and leaned over the counter to wrap his arms around Sally in a hug. "Thank you Sally."

"You're welcome freak." She replied pulling away.

Sherlock spun on his heels and headed for the exit. "You forgot your hot chocolate." Sally called after him.

"Bin it, I wasn't going to drink it anyway." Sherlock told her before disappearing out the door. He hailed a cab quickly and headed to Mycroft's.

XXXX

"Where is he?" Sherlock demanded, shouting the moment the lift doors open.

"Ah Sherlock." Mycroft said calmly, appearing from his study. "I had a feeling you might be by."

"Where's John?" He inquired, looking around the large and rather garishly decorated flat. He pushed past Mycroft and began searching.

"John's long gone." Mycroft informed him.

"What did you do?" Sherlock yelled, feeling like he could murder Mycroft in a fit of rage. "I told you. I fucking told you."

"Sherlock, do calm down." Mycroft sounded bored.

"You've meddled in my life for the last time Mycroft. I won't stand for this."

"You're too late Sherlock."

"How much?"

"Hmm?"

"You know what I'm talking about. How much did you give him?" Sherlock demanded, stalking over and confronting his brother face to face.

"I offered to pay for medical school."

The blood drained from Sherlock's face, any anger reduced to dread, lips pressed into a straight line. One thing he could say about Mycroft, he knew how to be persuasive. He'd given John the only thing he wanted, the only thing that John would possibly trade Sherlock for. And why wouldn't he? Sherlock was broken. It was hardly a trade at all.

"I hate you." Sherlock spat, his eyes narrowing and his hands curling into fists. "I fucking hate you Mycroft."

Sherlock grabbed the front of Mycroft's perfectly tailored three-piece suit and took a swing and him. His hand connected with his large, pointy nose. Sherlock was never one for violence, he and Mycroft had never even play fought as kids. He wasn't sure he was throwing the punches right but Mycroft was bleeding and his hand hurt so he must have been doing something right.

"You just couldn't let me be happy!" Sherlock screamed, cracking his fist against Mycroft's face again.

"No, you want me to be a miserable bastard like you." Sherlock hit him again. He was seeing red. He'd never felt this angry in his whole life, yet hitting Mycroft gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.

Mycroft was dizzy and looked ready to hit the floor. Sherlock grabbed him with both hands and shoved him against the wall, holding him up. "You are not my father." Sherlock snarled viciously. "Stop pretending you are."

He let go and Mycroft crumpled to the floor. Mycroft rarely had so much as a hair out of place so seeing him bloody and rumpled on the floor was strange. Sherlock shook his hand, trying to stop it from stinging. Mycroft seemed to be trying to say something Sherlock couldn't quiet make out. Mycroft coughed and shakily pushed himself up into a seated position.

"He didn't…take…the money…" Mycroft choked out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, soaking up some of the blood.

"What?" Sherlock asked, kneeling down in front of his brother.

"John didn't take the money." Mycroft repeated more clearly.

"Oh." Sherlock said feeling slightly stupid for getting so worked up. He got to his feet and didn't bother to help his brother up. "Well he would have, if you'd had your way. I swear Mycroft, you come near John again and I'll mess up more than your face."

Mycroft didn't say anything in response and Sherlock didn't so much as glance back as he waited for the lift. He could hear Mycroft struggling to get to his feet but he didn't care enough to go help him or even acknowledge him. Sherlock pressed the button to call the lift a few times, harder than was necessary. There had been several times in his life where he'd wanted to hurt Mycroft. He would have to thank John for giving him a reason to.

XXXXX

_Where are you? SH_

Sherlock texted John from the cab.

_Baker Street waiting for you. Will you be here soon? John_

_On my way. SH_

Sherlock slipped his phone into his pocket and couldn't help grinning to himself. John was in his flat, waiting for him. He couldn't think of anything that could make him happier. John had refused to take the money meaning that he still wanted to be with Sherlock. Nothing else mattered.

When he arrived home he took the stairs two at a time and burst into his flat. John was sitting on the couch and got to his feet the moment Sherlock entered. Sherlock had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life and he just wanted to rush over and wrap his arms around John. Instead John silently made his way over. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something when John raised his hand and struck Sherlock across the face.

"You slapped me." Sherlock stated the obvious, holding his stinging cheek in shock.

"I should do more than that you complete and utter arsehole!" John shouted. This was not how Sherlock had thought this meeting was going to go.

"John I—"

The end of the sentence was muffled by John's lips pressing against his. John had one hand fisted into Sherlock's shirt, the other twisted into his hair. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him close, their bodies flush against each other. Their tongues tangled and they only pulled apart when they were both about to pass out from lack of oxygen.

"I could kill you Sherlock, I really could." John sighed and pressed his forehead against his.

"Are you sure you mean me and not my brother?" Sherlock asked, confused about what he could have possibly done.

"Yes, I mean you." John moved away but took Sherlock's hands in his. It was at that moment he glanced down and noticed the state of Sherlock's hands. "Jesus Christ, what happened?"

"It's not my blood." Sherlock told him calmly.

"Then whose blood is it?" John's eyes widened.

"Mycroft's."

"Oh for fuck's sake." John chortled, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Go sit down, I'll get the first aid kit."

Sherlock did as he was told and sat down on the couch. John returned moments later with a tea towel, a bowl of water and the first aid kit they kept on top of the fridge. He placed the items on the coffee table and then sat down across from Sherlock, their knees touching. He gently reached forward and took Sherlock's hand, examining it.

"You didn't take the money." Sherlock said, once again being obvious but he didn't know how else to begin.

"Of course I didn't take the money you daft git."

John reached over and dipped the towel into the water before pressing it lightly against Sherlock's hand, removing the blood. "But you wouldn't have had to put off medical school. It's your dream." Sherlock said, puzzled by John's choice.

"I don't want it. Not like that. I'll go to medical school on my own terms. I don't need a pay off." John's teeth were gritted but his hands were moving gently against Sherlock's. Sherlock lifted himself up off the couch just a bit so he could press his lips to John's before sitting back down.

"Sherlock." John swallowed and concentrated on Sherlock's hand. The water in the bowl had turned red. "When were you going to tell me about overdosing? Or were you ever planning on telling me?"

"Mycroft shouldn't have told you." Sherlock replied bitterly.

"No, but  _you_  should have. God Sherlock, just when I thought things were finally starting to be ok between us, I find out you're keeping things from me."

"I did text you when it happened. In fact it was the last thing I did." Sherlock offered up, hoping it might ease John's mind about it a bit.

"Wait, that text you sent, the one saying you loved me? That was what, you saying goodbye?" John asked dumbfounded. He'd stopped cleaning Sherlock hand and was staring at him.

"It was important information for you to know in case I didn't make it." Sherlock shrugged.

"Shit." John cursed, throwing the towel into the bloody water and standing up. He began pacing he floor, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck in agitation. "Christ. Sherlock, I could strangle you. You knew you were in critical condition and you sent me that. You didn't think to tell me you were dying or call an ambulance?"

"It seemed more pertinent that you knew how I felt."

"How?" John threw up his hands in frustration. "How is that more important than your life? Fucking hell Sherlock you are completely bonkers. How can you have such mixed up priorities?"

"John, I did tell you." Sherlock said softly.

"No you most certainly did not." John snorted.

"I did." Sherlock insisted.

"Wait." John stopped moving and his eyes widened as something dawned on him. "That's what 'you're killing me' meant?"

"I wasn't choosing my words very carefully." Sherlock admitted.

"Oh God." John covered his mouth with his hands and sat down next to Sherlock on the couch. "I caused it. You wouldn't have OD'd if I had been here."

"No." Sherlock said moving closer to John and grasping his hands. "If I had been stronger and able to control my addiction, you wouldn't have left. This is not your fault."

"How can you say that? I left you alone and miserable and the worst part is I was aware of it. I knew you were in bad shape and I didn't care. I-I wanted to punish you. God I'm such a twat." John groaned and covered his face in his hands.

"You're not." Sherlock removed the hands so he could see John's face. Sherlock couldn't have John blaming himself for Sherlock's failings. "This was my doing. Don't you blame yourself."

John's eyes turned sad before he closed them. Sherlock reached up and cupped John's face with his hands. John pressed into the touch before opening his eyes again. "Sherlock, you could have died." John's voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I would have done if…"

"Shh." Sherlock said, gently stroking John's cheek. "John, none of this is your fault. You gave me a choice, remember?"

"I shouldn't have. This first sign of trouble and I just bolted. I broke your heart." Tears formed in the corner of John's eyes. Sherlock reached up with his thumb and brushed them away.

"You were trying to do what you thought was right. You were trying to make me better. You gave me a choice and I chose wrong. I should have picked you, right away, with no hesitation."

"Yeah, well, you're an idiot." John sniffled and the corners of his mouth upturned into a faint smile.

Sherlock ducked his head down to press his lips to John's again. He moved a hand down to John's leg and used it to tug him onto his lap. John's hand slid up to the nape of Sherlock's neck and stroked the curls there. Sherlock nipped at John's thin lips before plunging his tongue in to taste John fully. John moaned and began sucking Sherlock's tongue in return.

Sherlock was on the verge of getting hard when John broke away and slid off Sherlock's lap. John stood and held out his hand to Sherlock. Sherlock eyes him tentatively before taking his hand and letting John pull him up off the couch.

"What are we doing?" Sherlock shifted his weigh nervously.

"We're going to dance." John beamed.

"I told you it's—"

"Not my area." They said together.

"Yeah, well you lied to me and so this is your punishment." John licked his lips before grinning devilishly.

"Dancing is my punishment?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.

"Yup." John nodded. He went and searched the bookshelves for music. "Don't you have anything other than classical music?"

"No." Sherlock shook his head, hoping it might deter John. It didn't. Instead John went over to the laptop and pulled up youtube, typing something in.

"Three minutes and thirty seconds, do you think you can handle it?" John asked walking over to Sherlock as Oh Darling by the Beatles started up.

Sherlock awkwardly took John's hand in his and put his hand around his waist. John rolled his eyes in response. "It's not the fifties Sherlock, you can hold me."

"Not. My. Area." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

John just smiled and took Sherlock's arms and wrapped them around John's waist while he put his own arms around Sherlock's neck. John rested his head on Sherlock's chest and together they swayed to the music.

"Well, you're not stepping on my feet so you're not complete rubbish." John teased, moving his hands to Sherlock's shoulders.

"Mother made me take dance class when I was a boy. Ballroom dancing. My partner was a chubby girl named Libby who I believe had a crush on me."

"Next time I see your mother I'll ask for pictures." John chuckled and Sherlock smiled, resting his chin on John's head.

_Oh Darling, if you leave me_ _  
_ _I'll never make it alone_ _  
_ _Believe me when I tell you_ _  
_ _I'll never do you no harm_

John lifted his head and stood on his tiptoes to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock retaliated by moving his hands down to cup John's arse, giving it a light squeeze. They both giggled with their lips still together and stayed like that until the song ended and they stopped moving and just focused on kissing.

"So…" John pulled away eventually to get some air. "Dancing isn't as terrible as you thought."

"It's tolerable." Sherlock shrugged.

"It seemed more than tolerable when you had your hands on my arse."

"You're a much better partner than Libby." Sherlock offered with a grin.

"Did Libby let you grope her like that?"

"I assure you I was a perfect gentleman, although she was not much of a lady." Sherlock grimaced from the memory.

"She didn't!" John asked in awe, his jaw dropping.

"Oh yes." Sherlock nodded. "More than a few times her hands 'slipped'."

"Can't say I blame her." John's hand moved down and gave Sherlock's bottom a pinch. "It's a very, very, fantastic arse."

"Maybe you'd like a closer look?" Sherlock bent down a whispered in John's ear suggestively.

"Definitely." John licked his lips. "Let me just- Gah! What are you doing?"

Sherlock had grabbed John's legs and hoisted him up so he was carrying him. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's middle and had his arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. Sherlock carried John into the bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot.

"Sherlock, put me down or I will kill you." John threatened as Sherlock pressed his back against the wall.

"So you keep saying and yet…." Sherlock grinned wickedly and bent his head to suck on John's neck.

"You're a madman!" John cried out, tangling his fingers into Sherlock's hair as Sherlock bit down on John's skin leaving a mark but not breaking it. John moved one hand down and tugged at one of Sherlock's nipples, twisting it slightly. Sherlock threw his head back and moaned loudly. John playfully bit his chin before their lips met again.

Sherlock pushed off the wall and carried John over to the bed, dropping him so he bounced against the mattress. Sherlock made quick work of John's button and zipper, pushing them down to grasp John through his underwear. John bucked up, pressing himself against Sherlock's palm with a deep, guttural moan.

"Clothes. Off. Now." John said pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor. Sherlock's long, pale fingers were unbuttoning his shirt but it wasn't fast enough. John grabbed where Sherlock had unbuttoned too and tore the rest of it open, a few buttons going flying.

"Was that really necessary?" Sherlock asked, an eyebrow raised as he undid his pants and pushed them down.

"That's what you get for carrying me." John countered.

"So instead of killing me, you murder my shirt."

"What's the prison sentence on that?" John joked as he kicked off his pants and lied down on the bed with his hand behind his head, waiting for Sherlock to finish undressing.

"I might be persuaded to let you off with a warning." Sherlock said with a wink as he stepped out of his pants.

"A firm talking to, that's what I need." John nodded.

"Perhaps I should call Lestrade and have him put you in cuffs."

"Too true. This is, after all, a crime scene." John sat up and hooked his arm around Sherlock's neck, pulling his now naked body on top of him.

"Not much of one since I've already solved the crime."

"Another case closed by the brilliant Sherlock Holmes." John said with a giggle.

John reached up and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and then down his back, making Sherlock shiver. Together they started moving their hips, their cocks sliding against each other, causing obscene noises from both of them.

"Slow down, slow down." John begged, already feeling close to losing it. "You're going to make me come already."

Sherlock moved so he was sitting on John's stomach. John raked his fingers down Sherlock's pale chest, making sure to graze over his nipples, making him jump from the sensation. John bent his head and took Sherlock's prick into his mouth, sucking just the head hard. Sherlock saw stars and his fingers dug into John's shoulders.

"Jesus Christ John." Sherlock shrieked as John swirled his tongue around Sherlock's cock before shoving it into the slit, tasting Sherlock's precome.

John removed his mouth and licked his lips. He reached up and dug his fingers into Sherlock's arse, pulling him up so he was kneeling while simultaneously lifting his head and swallowing Sherlock's cock again. He used his hands gripping Sherlock to thrust him into his own mouth with moving his head to meet the thrusts.

"John." Sherlock groaned, grabbing John's hair and tugging it back to pull his mouth off him.

"What's wrong?" John asked not sounding too concerned about it.

"Not like that." Sherlock growled.

"Then how do you want me?" John asked lying back down and wiggling himself under Sherlock so that his cock pressed against Sherlock's arse. "Come on Sherlock, how are you going to fuck me?"

"You're enjoying this." Sherlock said accusingly.

"It's sex, I'm supposed to enjoy it." John shrugged.

"You seem different." Sherlock said frowning.

"I guess I'm just…giddy, I suppose would be the appropriate word. It feels like we've been climbing up a long and extraneous hill and we've finally made it to the top. I know it's not true and maybe I'm being naïve but it feels like things are going to be a lot smoother from now on."

"I don't think you're naïve." Sherlock said quietly, thinking things over. "It's not going to be easy, us being together. But it does feel like we're on firmer ground."

"Exactly." John nodded, pleased that Sherlock understood. "Now, I need to be ravished."

"Really?"

"Yes." John propped himself up by his elbows and stared into Sherlock's eyes. "I need you to fuck me until I can't walk straight."

"I'll do my best." Sherlock accept the challenge. He bent down and devoured John's lips with his own. He kissed John's jawline and over to his ear to nibble on the lobe. He licked his tongue against John's adam's apple and migrated down to his nipple, taking it between his teeth and tugging. His hand moved up to the other one and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. John moaned loudly, dropping down onto the bed and pressing himself against the pillows.

Sherlock grabbed a pillow and placed it under John's lower back. Then he found the lube in its usual place and slicked up his fingers. He circled it around the rim teasingly before slipping it in. John arched his back and ground his hips down, pushing the finger in further. After a few pulses, he added another finger. John was rolling his hips, riding Sherlock's fingers.

"Sherlock." John whined as he added a third finger. "I need your cock. Now. Please."

"So impatient." Sherlock mocked with a sigh. He grabbed the lube and tossed it at John. "The fingers come out when that's ready to go in."

Sherlock's eyes flickered down to his cock and then back up to the tube in John's hand. John grinned in response and emptied some of the gel onto his hand. He rubbed them together, warming the cold gel before moving his hands over Sherlock's cock, slicking it up. He moved from base to tip starting with his palms and doing it over and over until just his fingertips were brushing up the shaft.

"John." Sherlock groaned, thrusting his hips, trying to get more sensation from John's hands while his fingers moving inside John's hole became more erratic.

"If you want more you know what you can do." John raised his eyebrows and licked his lips seductively.

John propped his legs up so his knees were in the air and his feet were flat on the bed. Sherlock moved his legs farther apart before removing his fingers. Almost instantly they were replaced with Sherlock's cock, moving in slowly, inch by inch.

"Oh God." John's hands fisted into the sheets when Sherlock was completely inside him.

Sherlock began circling his hips, finding his pace. John writhed beneath him, the sounds he made going right to Sherlock's cock. He moved out so just the head was still inside, causing John to whimper with a protruding lower lip. Then with one quick thrust, Sherlock buried himself deep within him again and finding his prostate.

"Holy fuck." John gasped.

Sherlock hitched his arm under one of John's legs and pulled it up, changing his angle. He thrust in again, the angle making it so he found John's prostate on the first try.

"Again." John begged. "Please. I need it."

Sherlock obeyed and slammed into him over and over, finding his prostate each time.

"God yes." John shouted, his head thrown back against he pillows. "That feels amazing."

John tightened himself around Sherlock, making the friction against his cock unbearably good. John's toes curled and he reached up to grab his own cock, his movements quick and furious.

"Harder." John begged, thrusting into his own hand in time with Sherlock. John's other hand moved down and kneaded his balls.

"God, look at you." Sherlock mused as he watched John play with himself while Sherlock was buried deep with him. "You're a revelation John."

"You are absolutely bloody fantastic." John said breathlessly, punctuating it with an indecent moan.

"John, I'm so close."

"So am I."

Their orgasms built up inside them until they both spent themselves together, calling out each other's names and coming simultaneously, riding out the end until they were both finished.

XXXXX

After they had cleaned themselves up, they lied together, wrapped in each other's arms, their legs entwined giving each other chaste kisses. Neither of them expected anything more and neither of them wanted it. They were spent and exhausted but extremely contented.

"When I was seven my father died." Sherlock said quietly.

"I'm sorry." John said sympathetically. He reached over and stroked Sherlock's hair soothingly.

"My father dying wasn't really the worst part of it. He'd been sick for a year and so when he died I was expecting it."

"Sherlock, you don't have to…"

"I want to. No more secrets John. No more omissions. I want you to know me better than anybody."

"Ok." John nodded and gave Sherlock a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm listening."

"The worst part was the affect it had on my mother. She fell into a state of depression. There would be good days and bad days. I always knew the good days because she'd be up in the kitchen making me tea and French toast for breakfast. Bad days were much harder to predict. Sometimes she wouldn't come out of her room at all while other times she'd be up at the crack of dawn, screaming at the maid about anything and everything. Also I looked a lot my father, even back then. On bad days she hated me, like I was a cruel reminder."

"That's horrible." John's eyes widened in horror. "So did it pass or was your birthday just one of her good days?"

"One of the good days. She always tried to make my birthday one of her good days. My birthday and Christmas."

"So that's why those are the only two days you go home." John inferred.

"Exactly. I prefer to see her that way than come at another time when it's uncertain which of my mother's will be receiving me." Sherlock took a deep breath before he could continue. "Mycroft is seven years older than me. Even though he was only fourteen at the time he was always mature for his age. He decided to take it upon himself to act as my father and this is when my hate and resentment started. Our relationship only got more difficult and antagonistic as we got older."

"Hence the meddling." John interjected.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "He keeps annoyingly close watch on me. I doubt he'll ever stop even after I beat his face in."

"Which you shouldn't have done." John scolded with a frown.

"Mycroft had it coming." Sherlock waved it off. "Especially for trying to take you away from me."

"But I'm here." John said gently. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Well I didn't know that then. Still I think I might have hit Mycroft anyway just for trying. I don't think I would have done so with such vigor perhaps." Sherlock contemplated it.

"Didn't my note tell you everything you needed to know?" John asked concerned. "I thought I'd made my feelings perfectly obvious."

"Feelings can change."

"No. Not how I feel about you. I'm yours and you're mine. It's a constant."

Sherlock swallowed, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. He pulled away from John for a moment, rummaged through his bedside table until he found what he was looking for. He moved back into the position they had been in, folding back into John's arms. He leaned in a kissed him while pressing the object into John's hands.

John pulled away and examined what Sherlock had just given him. "Thirty days sober chip." John read aloud.

"It's mine." Sherlock informed him.

"You've been thirty days sober?" John asked in astonishment.

"Ever since my overdose. No cocaine, nothing. I've even quit smoking, I've been on nicotine patches for the last few weeks."

"Then why was Mycroft trying to get rid of me?" John asked, confused. "Why did he believe you had gotten worse?"

"I can avoid Mycroft easily when I feel so inclined."

"But why would you want to?"

"I didn't want him to believe that I was going clean for him. It was for you John. Everything I do is for you, everything. And you managed to outdo me even still."

"It's not a competition Sherlock." John rolled his eyes.

"But still, you gave up your dream. Mycroft handed it to you on a silver platter and you chose me."

"Of course I did." John said pressing his lips to Sherlock's forehead. "I'll get to medical school, I'm not worried about that. I'm not going to take some shortcut that I haven't earned and give you up in the process. It wouldn't be right. I'd feel like a dirty cheat or something. And I don't know…I guess I liked it better having the possibility of you and medical school rather than have one be a sure thing and the other taken from my grasp."

"You're an exceptional human being John Watson." Sherlock said as he laced his fingers through his.

"So are you."

"I'm really not."

John barked out a short laugh. "It's alright, I love you regardless."

"I love you." Sherlock said in turn, meaning it wholeheartedly. He bit his bottom lip for a moment, wondering if what he was about to say would ruin everything. "I never slept with Jim." He blurted out.

"Why does it matter?" John inquired, confused by the outburst.

"It seemed important for you to know for some reason. He…he was interested. I knew he was. I wasn't though and I always managed to ward off his advances. But then Mycroft learned of the nature of our relationship—"

"That Jim was your dealer."

"Yes and gave Jim a similar deal. Jim turned down the money. He didn't need it anyway. He came from a family of means and selling drugs gave him more money than he knew what to do with. Still he had stood up to my brother and turned down inordinate amounts of cash. After that I always felt sort of ...indebted to him and that gave him power over me. He got very good at manipulating me and I'd find myself over at his house even when I didn't want to be. He was always pushing me to try new drugs or to do more cocaine. My addiction was never as bad as it was when I was around Jim. That night when you found me, that was what it was usually like with him. I'd get so strung out and I'd hate myself for it. And yet I went back…I always went back."

"It's ok." John said reassuringly, giving Sherlock's hand a squeeze. "You never have to go back there. But why didn't you tell me this before? You never brought up the cocaine until I saw you like that."

"I was afraid. I'm terrible at connecting with people. I'm quite skilled at making people flee from my side in a hurry. I guess I was doing whatever I could to make sure you didn't have a reason to leave."

"I guess that's understandable. But then why didn't you tell me you were getting clean? You didn't have to go through it alone."

"I didn't want to get your hopes up in case I failed. I nearly broke when I found out you were dating someone. I wanted to so I could numb the pain I felt." John looked away in guilt, his cheeks flushing red. Sherlock moved closer and caught John's lips with his own. "I'm not used to emotions. I don't do feelings or at least I didn't before. But now it's like all I have are feelings and every single one of them is for or about you. You're my everything John."

Sherlock looked up and noticed there were tears in John's eyes, spilling out onto his cheeks. "Oh God, what did I say? Did I say something wrong?"

"No you idiot. I'm crying because I'm happy."

"That doesn't make any sense." Sherlock blinked at him in confusion.

"You didn't say anything wrong, Sherlock." John grinned and moved his body closer, pressing his lips to his. He held on to the chip Sherlock had given him, clutching it in his hands. It was a promise, one John could hold in his hands. "In fact everything you said was very, very right."


End file.
